


Across the Stars

by eritas



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Character Death, Expanded Universe, F/F, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Mystery, Original Character(s), Puzzles, Riddles, Science Fiction, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 92,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eritas/pseuds/eritas
Summary: All the pieces were right in her hands: Etheria and its harnessed superpower, the entire empire of Horde Prime, the magic of the Princesses, the broken Sword of Protection, and the mission to recover her Qu...Bright Moon's Queen. But Adora's stores of strategy had run dry. The solution to this equation lay far outside her reach, perhaps across the stars. (Grittier season 5 re-write, Glimmadora, cross-listed in FanFiction.net)
Relationships: Adora/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 47





	1. The Opening

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: This story is a grittier alternate for season 5. Only minor alterations to the canon, namely that all Princesses need to refill their store of magic from their runestone like Glimmer did before she became queen.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: You'll find I'll be taking some liberties with the world building by how it's realized in my storyline (except for Glimmadora, 'cause that subtext be ALL over the place!). I'm mixing in more maturity while trying to keep true to their most prominent mannerisms--most of the Princesses are close to 20, Frosta is probably 15. I'm normally a fantasy/sci-fi writer, but when I was looking for more good Glimmadora fic, I came up wanting. Well-written romance stories weave a full tapestry, and are rarely manageable if they only highlight the couple/group in question. The story has been haunting my thoughts and dreams since it came around. I hope that translates to consistent and quality updates.
> 
> Warnings are meant for the entire work and not each chapter.
> 
> EDIT 9/21/2020: In rewatching the series for continual research, I got to Destiny Pt 1 and heard Glimmer mention she was the only Princess who has to recharge. I've overlooked that and thought all Princesses had to recharge, which you may have noticed throughout AtS. It's my belief that magic in fantasy worlds can't be without cost, because limitless power is boring. Sure it's canon divergence, but I hope one that enriches the She-Raverse.

Sidestep. Duck. Leg sweep. Roll. Jump back. Squat. Weave. Pivot. Duck again. Dodge. Push forward, body throw, side roll, jump kick, backhand, another squat, uppercut, jab, pivot and weave, roundho— _ **BAM!**_

What resounded in her head was a sound far stronger than the dull _**crack**_ that came from the wooden training post. Heaving out hot breaths, Adora brought her foot back down without a second thought for how it throbbed, focused instead on her training "partner" in the near dark. The top segment was tilted, held by the tight grain around the jagged break, as if taunting her in its last moments with a bloody smile on its lips. She glared at it for a couple more heartbeats while her lungs settled down, as well. Just another reminder. _Like I need one,_ she thought grimly.

Adora popped it off neatly with a hand heel strike and walked with a concentrated smoothness to a nearby bench. A small, damp towel hung off the edge, and next to it stood a bottle, contents almost gone. She watched her hand close around its contours, raise it toward her face, and pour the cooling liquid into her body. This new concoction from Mystacor was almost all of what Adora had drank (or eaten, if she were being honest) in the past three days. Their Guild had distilled an energizing drink from their springs, keeping most of the healing minerals while adding a sweetener and plant proteins. Castaspella insisted on a lower ratio of sweetener for Adora's ration—it brought a ghost of a smirk to her lips, knowing someone knew her like that. _Knows me like_ …

Blue eyes lifted skyward, to the stars that filled every corner of her vision, spilled into every crevice between the trees and mountains. Most Etherians were frightened of them, thought they were ghosts, or a great super weapon unleashed by the war on the Horde. Whether it was Adora's memory of stars from her distant origins or the want for answers that may lie among them, her breaks during these practice sessions often passed staring at them. There were all shapes and sizes, strengths and magnitudes, and sometimes she thought she could form the constellations that Bow's dad Lance had described. And if she blurred her vision, Adora could lose herself in the striking view, bold and beautiful orbs against an eternal darkness.

She huffed, capped the bottle, and stretched. Eventually, the vast army of Horde Prime's ships would come back into focus, and the imminent dread stabbed at her mind. Physical strain and the lofty roof of Bright Moon's palace were her only shields from that feeling, now that the Sword of Protection was gone. Every extension of her arm and twist of her core revealed a muscle that needed strength, a reaction that needed precision. Imagining how the Primes fought and what she could do to survive them was far from the accuracy she'd like during her training.

 _But_ , she breathed out in the stillness of the courtyard under the stars, _it's the best I've got._

* * *

An electronic chirp brought Bow's head whipping around. Filling the lab's doorframe was Princess Scorpia, a triumphant smile on her face.

"Bow! I've got a present for you! …er, a broken present…not really a present, I guess," she cocked her head and looked at the broken training post in her pincers, "Well, you're a maker, so maybe it _is_ a present…"

He forced a grin, "Thanks, Scorpia. You can…uh, set it down anywhere over there."

He pointed to the end of the long, segmented table at which he sat, working on a new upgrade for the palace tracker pads. The lab was home to both mechanical and electronic workspaces, and Bow didn't want the princess coming near the delicacies of his work given her dexterity. Or lack thereof.

"Oh sure," she said in her same sing-song tone, "Right here—got it! I am…I am on it like a soldier on a ration bar."

Scorpia leaned the post against the table edge gingerly, watching to see that it stayed. Bow likewise watched, nodding curtly in approval, and turned back to his project.

"Thanks for bringing that by. Did Shadow Weaver ask you to?"

"Oh nah, I was up early, breathing in the day—the air is so much cleaner outside the Fright Zone!" she filled up her lungs in memory. "I overheard the guard captain the other day asking everyone to keep the palace shipshape while—uh…for when the Queen returns…so I did a quick round and saw this little guy—hup!"

Bow turned once again with a tremor running through his gut. Scorpia was in mid lunge to catch the damaged post before it fell into a pile of neatly stacked raw material. She ended up saving it just in time, but the adrenaline of completing a task successfully got the better of her. She pumped one pincer in celebration, which rocketed the post up in the air, where gravity crashed it down on to the pile anyway. Scorpia glanced back and forth between the young man and the mess.

"Oh dear, I am…I am so, so sorry. I'll get this put back. Aw geeze…"

Sighing, Bow placed a weighted cloth over the dismantled pad and went to help.

"It's nothing, you're fine. We probably shouldn't put this by the door…Let's move it to the back, where the tables meet."

"Mmm, yeah, that's a lot better," Scorpia nodded sagely. "Yup, always thinkin'. So uh…whatcha workin' on?"

"Just a boost for our tracker pads. Since you and Entrapta will be traveling more and more, I want to make sure we can communicate consistently," Bow continued stacking metal bars on her outstretched arms.

"Good one! When's Entrapta back, by the way?"

"If _anyone_ knew that girl's schedule, they'd have to be part computer. She's probably finding our hidden passages as we speak."

"Wait, those exist?" she looked around, wide-eyed.

"This palace has been around for generations. Queen Ange…Angella's ancestors built it around the Chamber of Queens. But every queen had their take on it, and added something or took this away, so the drawings are only partially right."

"Mmm, sounds like you guys could use Entrapta's attention. She has a knack for plans and all that technical jargon."

Bow picked up two blocks of a light metal alloy and jerked his head back toward their destination, "She does, when she doesn't have a million more theories popping into that head of hers. Good idea, though—I'll scan those up to her database in case she might uncover something. She got all that tech working off of your gemstone, after all. She _is_ a wonder."

"Yeah, it's still gonna have enough to help me, right? I've been told I'll have to back to recharge once in a while. Buuuut I'm not sure what that's like. Do I go through the whole connection thing again? Or do I ask it? Just like, 'Hey Black Garnet! Mind givin' me some juice?' Heh heh…I-I still feel a bit…uh, silly."

"You probably will. I mean, I…"

He thought hard for a moment. _All these years and I really have no idea what magic feels like_. He remembered a tingling sensation when he got teleported, or an odd static when Adora turned into She-ra near him. Bow had heard Perfuma talk about her morning meditations near her tree, how she could feel its life force, or whatever, flowing like blood through veins. _Is it like that for every princess?_ He wondered, _how haven't I asked them more about this?_

"Oooo, I know that look. You're off thinking again, aren't you?"

"I am, actually. What was your power? When you melded with your stone, what could you do?"

"Uh, well," she shifted her burden, blushing, "I basically punched a lizard girl 60 feet across the room into a wall. And then I punched the floor, and tore into about a dozen Emily-bots. So…punching? I have punch power."

"Hmmm. Have you done anything in the past week?"

"Gosh no. Just helping lift heavy objects, and…and trying to understand our briefings. All the magic stuff is still confusing."

"We should look into that. Every Princess has a specialty, yours might be…well, all others have a natural element. Cold, water, plant life," Bow swallowed, trying not to think about his missing friend, "Did you see anything cause the punches?"

"Oh yeah! It looked like red lightning!"

"Ok, lightning. We can work with thaaaat…"

Two more thoughts hit him at the same time. The first (and most important) was that the clumsy new Princess, standing next to extremely important equipment, could produce lightning. Surprisingly though, that thought was easily shoved aside by the second: Scorpia hadn't physically caught the falling post. The flashback in his mind saw its movements mimic the path of her pincers, yet without making contact.

He quickly put down his load and jogged back around to the post—not a mark on it, besides the break. Undoubtedly that came from Adora's late night sparring sessions, the ones he and Entrapta installed equipment for but never talked about. _There's no way Scorpia was that delicate with her grip, with_ that _reaction_.

"Scorpia, I think you used your power to catch this!"

"Great!" she rushed up beside him. "Awesome! …I have no idea what that means!"

"It means…we need to get you trained up."

* * *

Perfuma hummed cheerily down the hall, plate of sliced melons in one hand and a jug of mint tea in the other. Through the high windows, morning sunlight warmed the soft lavender of the stone walls to an almost golden hue, calming her mind. She tried not to notice that fewer guards stood here, not to remember the desperation that seeped into their meetings, not to focus on how more and more she had less and less to say. Whisking into the conference hall, the Princess filled her lungs and reached out to all the flora in the room, hugging each and coaxing a bit of growth out of them.

Gently setting the food and drink in front of Mermista— _already sulking, I see_ —Perfuma found her seat just as General Brizeus strode briskly in. Lines had grown more plentiful into her face, dug from worry and late nights. Few would comment on them, and fewer still would even notice, so deft was the commander at getting straight to business with any interaction nowadays.

"Thank you all for coming," she set her helmet down, and the rest were seated. "Before my main issue today, I want to confirm how our other kingdoms are faring. And…I _hope_ I don't regret this, but…Seahawk, you have the floor."

The self-professed mariner straightened from where he gazed stoically out of the yawning arched window, half-shouting around a ready smile, "Oh great warrior maiden, you shall not!

"Yes, your brave Seahawk has sailed the lengths of the seas _and_ skies to bring you news of fair lands afar! All councils of Plumeria, Salineas, and the…the Snows report their reconstruction goes well, what with the magics our Princesses are able to feed into their lands and works. Yea, I do say they should be at full strength two days hence, if all goes as planned. But rest well with the thought that my martial prowess and," he leaned closed to Mermista's face, "Unbreakable inspiration shall be at their service, _should_ they ever call."

"Uhhhh, twelve shades of regret over here. Keep going, Brizeus," Mermista pushed Seahawk's face back without looking.

"Quartermaster Leanor, what of Bright Moon's status?"

"Word has spread quickly that we are digging into stores of food and lumber for any that need it, but the populace shows to be foraging on their own for restocking and repairs. I've even heard that Thaymor sent a cart of fruits and tree nuts to Frosta's people to reopen trade lines again," the bearded man touched his head in thanks to the small Princess. "Overall, there's a general unease…but the industrious ones work past it."

"Excellent. Major Halbur, what of recruiting and training?"

The woman's pale face grew a shock of red on her cheeks, "All we can muster, ma'am. Getting the troops to learn let alone stay committed is a daily struggle. Those that don't scare the others off with stories about the…the ships overhead…"

The general's jaw clenched momentarily then relaxed. Perfuma let her hands gracefully fall to her lap and exhaled slowly.

"How many have we grown?"

"About…two hundred? Between all the camps."

Brizeus almost sputtered, "Two hundred?! So few!"

"Convincing them to follow officers is one thing, general. Which is a monumental task compared to when we had She…"

In the span of less than a moment, the major glanced in Adora's direction and down, voice dying with what little color she had. The blonde hadn't moved an inch in all the time Perfuma had been in the room—hunched forward, elbows drilled into the table, hand covering her tight lips as she stared toward the table's center. The Plumerian could hear Brizeus' teeth grinding.

"That's as good of a segway as any. Princesses, I am Etherian born and raised, and my loyalty to the Rebellion and your wisdom should be unquestioned," she made eye contact with them all, unblinking, "But we need to start coming up with other options. I have made sure our preparations are as thorough as they can be without disrupting the character of our people. The allied kingdoms are back on their feet. My weight and potency only stretches so far. We need leadership, and fo—"

"We are _not_ …elevating a new Queen."

Perfuma remembered the thunder from Mermista's raging squalls, the deafening roar of avalanches of Frosta's fury. She knew well the crash and whine of thick stone from Horde fortress walls in the hands of her plant golem, and flood of Etheria's energy through her mortal body just a week ago, an unworldly sound that redefined all the limits of her senses.

But the singular stressed word from Adora's mouth drowned out all of them. Perfuma remembered the phrase "kill with words," and today she finally understood the violence behind its meaning. Adora's eyes had finally met Brizeus', and were as cold as her broken blade.

"That was not my intention whatsoever, Adora. I am asking for this alliance to start working against the Primes, even if just to put out ideas that may not work so we might carve them into one that will."

After a beat, Adora sat slowly back in her chair and turned her eyes to the floor to her side, immediately distant. Taking another quiet breath, Perfuma listened as the gentle breezes and birdsong eased back into the meeting hall. A present silence she hadn't noticed before retreated just as seamlessly.

Frosta piped up, "Well, _I'll_ bring it up if no one else will—what good are we on a ship? I don't exactly think the Primes are keeping plants up there that Perfuma could call on. Mermista might be able to get away with commanding any liquids on board, but that's not a chance I want to take right now. I would have to depend on any cold storage."

"She's right. One of our heavy hitters totally out, and two at half strength. Scorpia, it looks like you've got your chance to shine," Bow smiled wryly.

"You got it! Sign me up, Master Maker!" she saluted with a bravado they knew all too well.

"Scorpia, do you think we can expect any push back from the Fright Zone? We haven't had any report of movement yet. Do you think Catra would side with the Primes?"

"I uh…I wouldn't rule that out, ma'am."

"That could be why we haven't heard anything from them," Adora cleared her throat. "They're awaiting orders from the new higher ups."

"Major, make note to send word to our outposts immediately after we're done here: we remain on high alert for any activity within the Fright Zone, or anything to come out of it."

A barely audible scraping lodged itself in Perfuma's notice—Bow's well-worn hands grasped tightly on his bicep where his arms crossed, tendons standing out boldly on his dark skin. He muttered, possibly to Adora at his elbow, or to himself.

"They think we can actually do _anything_ even if we do spot activity? They have a _legion_ of ships bigger than the palace!"

The Plumerian steadied herself, sipping on her tea. There was always an answer in meditation, right? Covertly, she drew her knees up into a lotus. It was a year ago she learned to reach deep into her centered mindset without closing her eyes, instead forcing the room before her into a vague interaction of blobs. She brought the focus to her lungs, expanding and releasing, instead of the chaos that built around her. If she could only give them this gift, this concentration on the solutions and not the obstacles, not to get caught up on the staggering impossibilities…

 _Ohhhhm…ohhhhhm…_ Perfuma brought herself back to her breaths. The air flowed in and out, running through her body, feeding her skin and hands. There was the pulse of life in her blood going back and forth, rushing and seizing. The conversations and bickering morphed into a temple bell, a windy meadow. Perfuma felt a slight sway start to come over her, which mimicked the gesturing arms…like the limbs of a willow. Walking forward in her mind, she knelt beside an ambling creek, wishing the waters could wash her companions clean of doubt.

Deeper she reached, attempting to spread this acceptance. She teased at the corners of the general's implacable need for order, and tried coaxing away Mermista's apathy, and drew her soft hands along Frosta's blunt pessimism. The glow of the room shifted, no longer a blur of outlines, and not by her own doing that she was aware of.

The sunlight streamed in on all those gathered, and yet Brizeus' uniform of weathered white linen was illuminated with a deep, unmoving maroon. Perfuma blinked, shaking her head. Seahawk had turned a warm rose with a single puncture of cobalt at its center. At her left side, Mermista was covered in a darker gold and then a haze of sea blue, as if it were an expensive dual colored satin. The meditating Princess sat forward in disbelief.

_Everyone's glowing! Whose…did I do this? What's happening?!_

Despite her inner panic, no one broke their habits. Debates rattled on per normal; only Mermista raised a dark eyebrow at Perfuma's jolt, then settled impassively back onto the topic at hand. Frosta's fist came up animatedly, a bright blazing red like the rest of her, and didn't alter in hue when it slammed on the map table. As she scanned further right, to make the complete circle, she gasped sharply. A net of pain choked her, and Perfuma quickly shut her eyes, the empty void too much to bear. There was a hollow spectre of navy that way, of which she only caught a glimpse, and the desperation there strangled her meditation.

"Perfuma!"

Before she knew it, Bow was at her side as she choked for air, and slowly came back to consciousness. Everyone stared at her from their seats. Even two of the guards had taken off their helms. The colors were gone.

"Perfuma, what going on? Are you all right?" Bow squeezed her shoulder.

"I think…I think so…I'm not sure what that was, but just in case…no one drink that tea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, and concerns always welcome.


	2. Queen Threatened, Diagonals Discovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Some of my own original concepts and names are thrown in.
> 
> SPOILERS: SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5. Only minor alterations to the canon, namely that all Princesses need to refill their store of magic from their runestone like Glimmer did before she became queen.

In the utter stillness that followed Perfuma’s fit, it wasn’t hard to hear a faint nasally voice echo throughout the chamber.

“Ooo, save the tea for me! I can run some chemical tests on it.”

Mermista dropped her shoes from the table’s edge and peered around. The council hall was grand and wide, but the marble floors held nothing more than their gathering and a couple guards. Entrapta was nowhere to be seen.

“Entrapta? Uh, where are you?”

“I’m behind you! In the waaaaall…”

All turned to search the mural as her dramatics faded away. Bow slid his hand slowly from Perfuma’s shoulder, tiptoeing toward the looming figures. His fathers had shared the stories of Bright Moon’s history with all of their sons, mostly by firelight at bedtime. The discovery of the Moonstone, its dedication to the land, the sages that first organized a kingdom from the wilds—the depictions were here before them, carved into ageless stone. Where did Entrapta fit in all of this?

“Where exactly are you in the wall?” he asked.

Sure enough, there was a muffled reply from the base of the left most segment, like the speaker was pushing physically past another body.

“Come, Entrapta, enough with the games already. We have—”

A panel sunk back and slid below the floor level, revealing a hunched King Micah in front of the tech genius. General Brizeus rushed over.

“Your Majesty! Are you hurt?”

“Goodness no, general. At ease,” he stretched to his full height.

The pair stumbled out of what looked like a tunnel, leading far back into the palace’s depths. Murmurs stirred up, and the whole of the meeting seemed disbanded in light of this curiosity. Entrapta’s goggles hosted a layer of dust and grime, and King Micah’s lavender tunic was smeared with the same on his elbows and shoulders. Bow picked up a stale odor of corridors long unvisited. A stripe of adrenaline passed through his nerves. _We had just been talking about these!_

“I apologize for my tardiness. Entrapta, uh…sequestered me earlier this morning with an official tour. Part of that entailed one of the hidden chambers I had found with Angella back before everything…turns out, our dear Princess has a knack for secrets.”

“It was all just probability when you think about it,” she pointed with her ponytails as if illustrating their surroundings. “We were at a dead end on a down slope, and torch sconces didn’t make sense if there wouldn’t be air to feed the fire. Then wham! Another secret passage!”

“We did find another cave that involves all of you. General, if you would keep your troops here and secure the hall, please. Some may need their security clearance updated,” his kind gaze brought the rest of the attendees close. “Come with me, I’ll provide as much light as I can.”

* * *

Stark, metal hallways. Sickly lime green lighting. Expressionless clones. Glimmer’s world was sheer depression. At times she laughed involuntarily—maniacally to some—at the distaste she had held for excursions to the Fright Zone. She could return to the comfort of welcoming smiles and an actual bed after those were done. Now when she woke from nightmares, it was into yet another oppressive reality. Each daily round of questioning ended with the same cell, mentally and bodily exhausted, a dull glow to accompany the last of her rambling thoughts. A ration bar and water. Maybe restless sleep. Repeat.

Four clones walked in a square around her, escorting the queen to yet another session. They marked the start of her imprisonment by trading her bright royal colors for a standard white long sleeve shirt and gray pants. On the way to her second interrogation, she tried tripping one, to get them out of step. It grabbed her arm with a crushing force afterward; the purplish-brown lines from its claw-hands were almost a welcome palette change, until they too faded to the dismal green. On the next couple of walks, she joked with them as if they were Bow or the Princesses. When that translated to more bruises from Horde Prime, Glimmer had a few more times to keep the shenanigans in her head. Anything to stave off the monotony.

 _Eternia save me, I’d even appreciate Catra’s face right now,_ she grudgingly admitted.

Her aching feet barely lifted off the ground now. Her stiff back sang of rolling around her unforgiving cell floor, and of straightening in a lie of confidence the next day. At least a dozen other muscles and joints were sore from where she had been struck. The walks to and from Horde Prime’s chamber were just long enough to collect herself before the next grueling battle of wits. Coming up there was a left, then two rights, the longest hall which turned into—

Suddenly a clone pushed her from behind, and she was on Horde Prime’s throne platform. _Wait, where…? Did I miss a turn?_ Glimmer looked about bewilderedly, _…did they run me here? That was too quick._

Above her, an endless blackness stretched, fathomless and unnerving. Early on Glimmer learned to cant her vision aside and shake her pink hair into a frame that would block it out. Before her, Horde Prime sat and surveyed his sprawling domain on his digital map, aloof to her entry as always. He rotated in his chair, and locked each of his four pupils on her.

“Your _Maj_ esty, an honor again.”

“Wish I could return the feeling.”

“Oh you just may. Have you had any more epiphanies about how the weapon works?”

“None.”

“Right right, for all you know, there’s a great store of energy inside the planet, and you’re the key to controlling it.”

Glimmer didn’t reply, _I’m even too tired for a proper scowl._

“Was that correct?”

“Yes, and the fifty other times you’ve asked that.”

“I wanted to confirm. Inaccuracies could be devastating here,” he continued. “You say that the other Princesses are connected to the energy, but they all mean nothing if you’re not there.”

“That’s about it.”

Horde Prime smirked, “About it? Or that _is_ it?”

“You’re using semantics on me _now_ —“

Glimmer cried out as a clone punched her hip socket. She bent over and leaned on the other leg to ease the pressure. She slumped down to her knees. Her eyes were beginning to water. _Think of mom, think of mom…she was strong…_

“Word choice is important here, my Queen,” he let her title slither out of his mouth. “Is there no way to unlock your planet’s power without you being present?”

“No, there isn’t.”

“And you’re sure your historians haven’t uncovered any details? No magical incantations or artifacts to do the job? It’s just…you?”

“I’m not aware of any.” _Think of Huntara, think of her stoicism._

“Interesting. Well, I wonder what the cat will tell me today.”

“What’s the point?” Glimmer grimaced through another wave of pain. “I’ve given you the same…. information over and over again. You won’t be able to put your hands on _any_ of that power until—“

“You’re Etherian. Yes, your Majesty?”

“No, I’m…”

She mentally facepalmed. _Y_ _es, yes you are, woman!_ Adora’s _from Eternia…how did that…did I tell him?_

“I am.”

“See, this is why words are important! I had that same debate earlier,” Horde Prime’s sadistic glee suffused his robotic features. “I don’t see fit to have surveillance tracked around this ship. My clones, the perfect copies of myself, report anything without hesitation if they judge it noteworthy. My cells, however…”

One section of his monstrous display screen fizzled into a recording of her cell from the previous night. The bottom of her stomach dropped out. There, on the screen, Glimmer was curled in on herself, in a back corner farthest from the energy door. Her body twitched and flinched, and she murmured in her sleep. Prime reached to turn up the volume, and she shut her eyes, though the memory struck her just as vividly…

_She saw everyone gathered in Bright Moon’s council chamber, to the details like the waves on Mermista’s gold bracers and the wolf fur on Frosta’s jacket. It felt like they had been there for hours of debate, the map altered to diagram out the ships surrounding Etheria. Bow’s plans were too intricate. Sea Hawk’s were grandiose, always with himself as the central point (usually with a ship on fire). The boom of a closing door made his next words die on his lips._

_Adora came in, tall and sure. Adora, persistent and daring. Adora, strong and humbly powerful. She strode to her chair, but didn’t sit down._ My best friend looked at everyone there, except at me, _Glimmer remembered._

_“I think I have a way to help us. I need to go to Eternia and get the First Ones to ally with us.”_

_All chatter instantly shut up. Glimmer teetered between frustration and guilt._

_“Whoa…Adora, how do you plan on getting there?” Bow questioned._

_“Mara’s ship, simple. It still has their coordinates, and a renewable energy source to power it all the way.”_

_“Take meeeee! I promise I won’t touch anything or wander off!” Entrapta’s hair lifted her up off her seat, “…until we get there…”_

_“Hold up. You’re asking for help from the same people that made our planet into a weapon?” Mermista drawled._

_“I know that, but I have to try. Light Hope was corrupted, and there’s a chance they never intended harm to Etheria,” Adora took on a pleading tone. “I can make them see.”_

_“I think it’s a capital plan, and I am ready for the adventure!” Sea Hawk put his hand to his chest._

_Glimmer remembered shouting, stunned and wounded. Betrayal had plucked her first thoughts one by one, with a smugness that infuriated her._

_“Eternia, are you daft?! No! It won’t do us any good! She-Ra will be gone for too long, and Mermista’s right. They wanted to destroy our_ home _…for what? Revenge?”_

_“With respect, Glimmer…we’re out of options,” the blonde’s gaze never rose from the map._

_“Look at me,” Glimmer stood._

_Adora was frozen, but empty—not with her usual miles-deep self-doubt or planning stares. Desperate rage coursed through the queen’s small body._

_“Look at me!”_

_With that, Adora stormed out, and never turned back._

Glimmer’s memory ended there, and now hot tears seared the corners of her eyes. She just left. As if the Queen of Bright Moon had no say. As if she couldn’t trust the leader of the rebellion.

As if Glimmer didn’t matter.

“That should answer your question, and I thank you for the lead,” Horde Prime cut off the video. “We’ve assimilated much of the Eternian technology into our weapons and ships. I’ll have to see if any of our prisoners remember their lore well enough to tell us what you won’t.”

“It took you, Horde Prime, ruler of an empire, in charge of…what, hundreds of planets? A _week_ to get that small clue out of me, a pampered queen,” she scoffed. “I can only imagine how long it’ll take to squeeze something better from a hardened prisoner.”

“A…week?”

For the very first time, Horde Prime was squinting in confusion. Glimmer squinted right back.

“Yes, seven days.”

He slowly smiled and barked out a laugh, fangs bared.

“Oh no, child,” he turned his broad back to her, interested once more in his console, “You’ve been here for fifteen Etherian days…and in all that time, not _once_ have your so called friends sent any message.”

Her heart plummeted into an abyss, frozen and dead. The clones had to drag her back to her cell.

Glimmer’s dreams that night were only of blue eyes, and their disappointment was her nightmare.

* * *

Scorpia held out a pincer to Perfuma to help her into the tunnel, “Are you sure you’re okay? You looked a bit shaken from that…that tea.”

“I think I can walk,” she smiled softly. “I just…my eyes were playing tricks on me, I guess.”

“You looked like you could see right through me. Kiiiinda a creepy,” Mermista shouted back from ahead of them.

Bow took up the rear, using one of his glowing arrows to inspect the ground as they went, “What kind of tricks do you mean, exactly?”

“Well, everyone was so loud…I mean, no louder than usual, and I got frustrated, so I-I meditated, like I usually do. I calmed myself down, and thought happy thoughts…” Perfuma wrung her hands. “They were peaceful, and I tried pushing that out to everyone, but of course forcing you all to do something is bad, and that’s not love. A-and then everyone turned…different colors.”

Bent to avoid the low ceiling, Scorpia whispered to herself, “Yep, deeeefinitely gonna stay away from that tea.”

“Like, our clothes? Or our skin?” Bow asked.

“You, yourself—er, everyone. Like each person was covered in a-a film, or something,” she shivered as she trailed off.

“Hmmm,” Bow wondered, “And you were just wanting us to be peaceful…Perfuma, do you think you saw inside us? Saw our feelings?”

“That doesn’t make sense. No one’s a plant…right?”

Perfuma yelped as Entrapta popped up beside her, recorder at the ready, “I have _so_ many theories about merging plant parts with robotics, but I’ve never considered a person before. Could I pick your brain about that?”

The next quarter hour passed while wading through ideas and recollections of the incident, with the scientist probing for ever more detail. The corridor sloped slightly downward, and moss appeared more frequently. Dampness wove through their group and weighted the air. Adora noticed the dense stone surrounding them quieted their footfalls, and a soft, constant shushing installed itself as the background. It grew stronger, as did a faint light from the front where King Micah led them.

Their tunnel opened into a cavern twice as high, fairly round and formed naturally from rock. The shushing sound came from the only other exit. Lichens and at least a half dozen bioluminescent plant species grew on most every surface, their teal or fuchsia glows playing and dancing. With hints of childish smiles, jaws dropped in wonder at the sight. Bow gently nudged Adora’s arm, putting away his arrow.

“Reminds me of the Chamber of Queens. You?”

She sighed, allowing her shoulders a moment to unravel, “Kinda, yeah.”

In the center, however, stood a set of five glowing ovals arranged in a semi-circle. Each large enough to swallow up any in their group, they writhed like rippling water in an eddy. Micah walked steadily around the ovals, their light seeming to entrance him. Despite the hardship of finding his daughter gone, Adora thought he was recovering well. His features had already begun transitioning to a regal look that she imagined belonged to kings. Dark facial hair cropped neat with graying edges, a noble yet formidable brow, the contours of cloth that fell on his gradually strengthening frame. A tiny bead of comfort melted on top of her mind.

“We’re behind Bright Moon’s waterfall right now. That passage is so high up and pushed back that it’s no wonder we’ve never found this place. We’re not sure exactly what these do, but I thought one of you might have had experience.”

“Seeing as we’ve had two portal debacles in the past year? Which is two more than I’d ever like to go through again,” Mermista had her arms crossed, but still crept closer for a look.

“There’s definite portal energies coming off of these. Their destinations will require more data,” Entrapta shared.

“I have to say,” Bow clapped her on the back, “It shows a lot of self-control that you stopped yourself from stepping through.”

She hunched and pointed at the king, “He wouldn’t let me.”

“If these are actually portals, I mean…we never knew about this type of thing until Hordak tried to ruin the world,” Frosta reminded them. “I don’t think they could’ve been made by anyone on Etheria.”

“But why would the First Ones put them here? The stories make it seem they were all powerful. Why make these permanent if they could make them wherever?” Mermista countered.

“Maybe…were they in contact with…I don’t know,” Perfuma attempted, “Did they need to check on Mara? Maybe they caught on to her betrayal near the end.”

“If they did this, they could portal in right next to Mara. I wouldn’t have wanted to walk all that way to the Whispering Woods and back here again every time.”

Nodding at the Salinean’s thoughts, Adora took all of it in. The ovals were tall enough, wide enough for even Scorpia. They shone with a radiant, white-blue light, steady without pulsating to match their movements. The floor in front of them was barren and smooth, though behind them the stone rose and fell naturally in its contours. Spacing the portals apart were knee-high stones, covered in thick patches of moss, green with amber stalks and yellow spores.

She approached one and carefully peeled back the covering. Pores had worn into the hewn surface, but there were symbols carved into it. The young woman dug out the excess dirt and traced them with her fingers to verify they had depth. Bow came up behind her with a brighter light.

“There’s some sort of writing on these…but it’s not First Ones language,” Adora told them.

Staying aware that no part of their bodies came close to the portals, everyone edged tentatively closer. Micah leaned around and cocked his head to turn it right side up for himself.

“Oh goodness…that’s an old Etherian tongue. I haven’t seen it since Mystacor. Great find, Adora.”

Squatting slowly and balancing, he inspected the inscriptions. Entrapta set about brushing off the other marking stones, mumbling happily into her recorder.

“The not-so-tall Adora found marker stones for the portals. Reminder to ask King Micro for references to Old Etherian…”

“This is…ah, it’s um,” he absently drew with his finger in the air, “Yes, this one says ‘Plumeria.’ ”

Everyone save Micah suddenly gave Perfuma a suspicious glance, at which she blushed furiously.

“I swear it wasn’t us! Stone isn’t a plant!”

“Relax, relax,” Micah waved it off. “The one on the right side says Plumeria, too. I think these are portals within the different kingdoms. Yes! Here are ‘Salineas’ and ‘Scorpion Hills,’ and…‘Besk Mergin’…mmm, maybe I read that wrong.”

“I haven’t heard that at all, and I’ve spent _hours_ at our maps with General Brizeus,” Bow mulled it over.

“No no, that’s Kingdom of the Snows. We have folk tales that tell about our glory days. Besk Mergin was the original name for our lands. But…that was a looong time ago.”

“Of course! That fits with the use of these characters. This last one is…’Valley of Seeking’… ’Valley of the Seekers.’ Something close to that,” Micah scratched his beard.

“Do you think these really lead to each of our kingdoms?” Mermista wondered aloud, and Adora had to double check for the Princess’s missing sarcasm.

“Seems the best guess, right now. But…who’s willing to test them?” Perfuma questioned, eyebrows raised.

No one replied. Just as Sea Hawk started launching into a tale of his bravery, Adora stepped directly for the one labeled Plumeria. Someone grabbed her wrist. The warm hand in the dank cave was enough to arrest her.

It was Bow’s. His look was weighted with concern, heavy enough to bring her back a pace.

Frosta snapped her fingers, “I’ve got it! Perfuma, can you convince any nearby plants to give up a root? A straighter one, like a ruler?”

Perfuma did so, albeit with a tremor in her humming. The smaller Princess ran out the exit toward the waterfall.

“She does know that I can…y’know…” Mermista flicked her hand palm up, and a pool in the corner of the cavern swelled up into a copy of her pose.

A ripple of chuckles cut through the excited tension. Frosta didn’t seem to notice as she came back, wet stick in hand. Before they could stop her, she ran straight to the center of the portals and stabbed the one for Besk Mergin, leaving her arm extended. When she pulled back a minute or so later, Adora blinked a couple times to confirm what she saw: the end of the root glistened with ice.

“I’d bet this leads to my kingdom after all,” she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until two second ago, this chapter was going to be twice as long as the first. I looked back and found a decent place to end it before 10 pages, though. I did the responsible thing and split it up, despite the joke I REALLY wanted to end on (which will be in the next, of course)
> 
> Besk Mergin is inspired by the Old Norse for "angry strength." I named Brizeus (brih-SAY-us) before I found on the Wiki that her name was Juliet, so please ignore that if you're aware :D I came up with her name as a toss up between brisk or brusque. I'm aware the people and place names in the show are from the 80s version, but WOW does it hurt as a writer to witness that. That's why I love Netossa teasing the fourth wall when she explains her name to Bow.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms are welcome.


	3. King Protected, Bishop Draws Out Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Some of my own original concepts and names are thrown in.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story starts after season 4, with no alterations to the events in the series. I would add "Slow Burn" to the tags, but the series itself is a slow burn for Adora and Glimmer's relationship--this story just builds on that.

“Amazing, Frosta!” Bow came closer to inspect the frosted stick. “You’ll be giving Entrapta a run for it with those ideas!”

Murmurs struck up again, full of possibility and wonder. Entrapta was bouncing from foot to foot, her sparkling eyes trying to get King Micah’s attention. He held up an open palm in anticipation of her retort.

“All right, we can go through, _but…_ no matter what comes of this, anything we see here is to stay only between us. As I told General Brizeus regarding security, word of this gets out and quite a few things could go wrong. This passage leads to our home, _my_ home. Do not share knowledge of these outside the council room, nor outside of this group. Are we all on the same page?”

Nods all around.

“Princess Entrapta, I’m looking at you.”

She nodded. Her right ponytail twitched, and somewhere, a recorder button clicked off.

“Good. I’ll go first and let everyone know when it’s safe. I don’t want any accidents happening on my account.”

“Your Majesty, I think you forget. You’re the king here,” Adora spoke, addressing his questioning gaze with all seriousness. “It’s our job to protect _you._ Or at least for Bow and I, it is.”

“Oh, I’m ready to throw _down_ ,” Frosta punched the air, ice fists forming fluidly.

He hesitated, “I guess…you’re right. I’ve been gone for so long, I…”

“Let me go through first, and I’ll signal the group.”

Micah paused to search her sky blue eyes. He lifted his chin a fraction of an inch, then nodded deeply. With a measured step, the blonde plunged through the iridescent light and felt a wave of force wash over her, dragging through her clothing as if trudging underwater. When her boot hit solid ground, it was in a much colder cave. Snow drifted in with the wind through a bent passage ahead of her, and another set of four portals sat in council next to the one from Bright Moon. Misty breath floating away in front of her, she hiked up to the tunnel and peeked out.

The view was striking, singular. She guessed it was her rebellion-based blinders that tucked away the wonder at Nature’s grandeur and immense scale whenever she came to the Kingdom of Snows. The thick ice columns elevating the palace’s causeway, the ancient mountains bordering the road, the vastness of the clear sky—all beautiful and fearsome. The gradient of aquamarine to rich cobalt of the palace’s spires was evident even at this distance, a perfect centerpiece to a mostly monochrome panorama. Thankfully, Horde Prime’s fleet was invisible this far north. Briefly she wondered if there had been a time where she hadn’t thought about the rebellion, combat training, or what the Horde would cook up next.

But only briefly.

They investigated the rest of the kingdom portals with a growing sense of ease. Plumeria’s led to not only to a shelter underground, but one covered in fearsome thorned roots that would need culling before it was fully usable. The one for Salineas was tucked away in a limestone chamber near the base of the figures which framed the Sea Gate. Scorpion Hills’ was well hidden in an unremarkable rock spire within the Fright Zone. Sitting atop Scorpia’s broad shoulders (carefully, to avoid the spines), Entrapta used a pair of enhanced goggles to spot the ruins of the newest Princess’s family home at about 500 meters.

The Valley of the Seekers portal puzzled them all. Unlike the rest, the sole apparent exit was the portal through which they entered. There weren’t even marker stones to designate spaces where others would have stood and maybe had been destroyed over time. Curiously, it beamed a myriad of colors into its cavern, still shifting this way and that like sunlight cutting through a pool of water. Bow was an exuberant volunteer to experiment—whatever portal one used to enter the Valley of the Seekers was the one to which they would return. A reflection portal, he decided to call it.

After ten futile minutes, they had found no clues to getting out of the sealed chamber, and King Micah called to return to the council hall for further discussion. He covertly held Adora back with him by her forearm. Once the others were just out of earshot, he gestured for her to walk ahead.

“We’ll have to post guards around the clock in the cave here. The other kingdoms’ seem far enough removed that the only detrimental concern would be someone sneaking into our grounds, now that all of the Princesses pass so much time there,” he said.

Adora nodded, “A good idea, your Majesty. I’ll be willing to take a shift.”

“I never doubted that. They’ll be designated for use only in emergencies. We’ll travel by the normal routes otherwise, and we’ll have to keep Sea Hawk from gabbing somehow,” he grimaced, “Entrapta can investigate them only with proper supervision.”

She snorted, smirking, “Truth.”

“What did I miss in the meeting today?”

“Not much…things carrying on as normal. Recruitment remains low. Brizeus asked us to start…formulating a plan in case the Primes attack,” Adora relayed.

“I figured it would come to that.”

They let it hang between them. The power each Princess could wield would only last so long. Skirmish and guerilla tactics would be laughable against the unfathomable numbers of Horde Prime. The aged king and the young veteran both knew the unavoidable outcome, and vowed internally to ignore it as long as possible.

“Have you thought up any ideas for rescuing Glimmer? I figure you and Bow would’ve moved by now…if you had.”

The familiar soreness in her molars returned as she untangled her countless hours of brainstorming. Immediately after discovering her friend’s capture, Adora’s anchor had been a frail thread of rationality, which kept her from flying Mara’s ship straight up to the unknown and using any violent solution possible to bring Glimmer back. That rage passed in a few days and gave way to exhausting, random bouts of crying, engulfing her regardless of time of day or surroundings. That was when nocturnal training became her therapy, her purpose, her nourishment. If Adora was vertical, all her faculties went to maintaining her façade of lucidity and awareness.

 _Sixteen questions rolled into one_ , she sighed inwardly, then shook her head.

“None, your Majesty. I suspect that was on the agenda after invasion scenarios.”

“Let’s have you, Bow, and Captain Terila take Entrapta and Scorpia into the Fright Zone for reconnaissance. Gather anything you can from Hordak’s…uh, database, Entrapta called it. And if you have time, check in on Scorpia’s family home in case there's some record of her powers. I’d like to go in knowing more of what’s ahead.”

“Of course, sir…and thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me enough to lead a mission.”

“Adora.”

He had a hand on her elbow, and she came face to face King Micah’s open earnestness. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes leaned in with comfort.

“You helped bring me back from Beast Island. Beast. _Island._ Me, whom Shadow Weaver called gifted when I was just a child. _You_ are the reason that I and so many others are here.”

A telltale tightness swelled in the back of her throat, and Adora had to look away, “She-Ra did that.”

“No. You had to fight that signal on the island, and won. She-Ra didn’t form the plan to infiltrate the Fright Zone to bring back Bow and Glimmer after they were kidnapped—you did. She-Ra didn’t figure out what the First Ones were doing to our planet—you did. She-Ra didn’t leave the Horde when she realized what they were doing…you did.”

“Sounds like Bow has been catching you up.”

“Yes, he has,” Micah responded with a hint of fatherly frustration. “You are smart, and brave, and loyal…sometimes, to the point of your own detriment. All _She-Ra_ did…was accentuate what’s already there.”

He watched her, shrouded in the pale light from the council room ahead. Adora blinked several times and loosened her fist. She nodded haltingly, a strangled sound trying to find purchase as a response. Micah dropped his grip, and the warrior continued on.

The Princesses’ excited buzz dulled considerably, now that they returned to their seats. Perfuma had passed the pitcher of tea to Entrapta and shared the fruit with few takers. Not a head was bowed nor attention turned elsewhere besides at Bright Moon’s king. Brizeus took a moment to run over status updates with him. Mermista rebraided her steel blue locks, but was genuinely engaged. Despite the fresh energy and determination the morning’s discoveries had birthed, the chill of dread was lodged firmly in Adora’s chest. She sank into plans for the upcoming mission to keep from obsessing.

“Honestly,” King Micah began, “Our situation in regards to the Primes is dire. Should they attack, the only option I see is to use our terrain to our advantage. The Whispering Wood is known for its disagreement with technology, and has always acted as a buffer zone with the Horde in how mysterious it is. Stars above, there’s been a hidden First Ones temple there all this time and we never—”

“Aha! That’s what I was trying to remember!”

Bow snapped his fingers, then realized where he was, with every eye gathered on him.

“Oh, sorry, sir. I-it can wait.”

“No son, I know you well enough that going this long without a theory means you’ve been stewing over something. Out with it,” the king rolled his hand in request.

“Adora, you said Mara found out the First Ones were siphoning magic out of Etheria, right? Taking a concentrate from the animals and people and ground?”

“That sounds like what she described, yeah.”

“What if we distribute it _back_ to Etheria?” the maker’s eyes lit up, and he drew his hand in an arc, as if painting the scene. “We could…diffuse it.”

“If we were First Ones, I’m sure it’d be easy, but uh, Bow…I don’t know if you’ve looked around lately,” Frosta waved to them all.

Goggles on, Entrapta whispered into her recorder, “I believe the tiny one actually implied her own insuperiority. Fascinating…”

The Princess of Snows growled. Straight up growled.

Bow shot up and squeaked in his shout, “ _YES_ yes, we’re all just Etherian, right. I think the First Ones tapped into the true…erm, foundations of these powers in order to take them away.”

“The teachers at Mystacor spoke similarly in my first lessons. We had to form a connection with Etheria and Her energy. Otherwise, no matter how we studied or perfected our sigils, we wouldn’t be able to construct a single spell. That bond was paramount,” Micah said.

“So, you think we can…um, split up that energy? And gift it to the planet?” Perfuma asked.

“Essentially, yes. The animals, the land, the stores ingrained into Mystacor. All of Etheria.”

“The one problem with that is—”

A foreign voice butted in. It was both unknown and distorted, most likely garbled by the portal that suddenly appeared behind King Micah’s seat. It cleared up as its owner stepped through said portal, a humanoid with amphibious dandelion skin that faded to auburn by its four hands.

The same foreign voice that cut off abruptly as pottery exploded on the newcomer’s head, and it fell unconscious.

Adora had her arm extended in its direction. Despite the shock spreading through the room, they all put the pieces together (scattered, gooey melon pieces) and found out where the plate went.

Half out of his seat, Micah’s heart started again, “Adora.”

“Yes, sir?”

He pointed to the form at his feet.

“She-Ra definitely didn’t do that, either.”

* * *

_Tap…tap…tap tap…tap…_

Scorpia scrounged through yet another drawer in her parent’s study. Here, “study” is defined as a couple bookcase-filled walls in varying stages of decay that may have had a book described to them at some point in their existence. Similarly, “scrounge” would be the action of attempting to sift through a container made delicate by decay, with a high chance that it would merely be a former container once Scorpia’s pincers were through with it. They had witnessed no instances of container survival in the last half hour of searching Scorpion Hall. Adora had grown past her grimacing though, and the giant Princess had also cooled her anxious apologies into rolling her lips inward and short grunts of agreement. She did, however, smile widely whenever she could clear rubble. Both her physique and powers came in handy in other ways besides the currently sought after fine motor tasks.

_Tap t-tap tap…tap tap…_

Blowing away dust and dirt particles, Adora carefully inspected papers and folders on the desk. In the snatches of writing that wasn’t smeared with water or torn in pieces, the words were concise and incredibly specific. She gathered Scorpia’s father wasn’t of military training, rather simply invested in process and efficiency. _Which makes sense why he gave up their holdings to Hordak so readily_ , Adora shifted to more records. Sadly, all they had to go on were the few stories Scorpia remembered of her ancestors’ paintings in their great hall.

She placed the last resource log on her Done pile and mentally ran through their progress. Only a third of the structure was left standing, doused in an aged cologne of oil and burnt chemicals. The cellars had collapsed in on themselves and became a training exercise when Scorpia attempted her “punch power” to rip open a chasm for access. A failed one, unfortunately—the impact of her projected force invoked a minor avalanche into the gap and sealed it indefinitely. Her parents’ bedroom and the dining room unveiled nothing useful. The armory had been thoroughly picked through by the Horde, right down to unbolting and carrying off the weapon racks. Adora wanted to give this task the full attention it deserved, and not think about getting back to the unconscious, unknown being in Bright Moon’s infirmary. There was little doubt this was their last area to examine.

She discovered Mermista yanking on a tarnished brass handle attached to an odd wooden drawer, sandwiched under a sheared-off stone column section. Adora had her left foot resting on the empty space in the desk, and found that when she started to stand, her muscles were exhausted. It wasn’t from her well-kept leather armor, a recent gift from Leanor; he made sure it was flexible, which sadly cut down on the amount of protection. A sudden flood of full body fatigue knocked her down in the half-backed chair again. The broken wooden edge scraped into sword sheath and her lower back, and the warrior lost breath she was taking. _What a day_. Her second attempt was successful.

_Tap tap tap…t-t-tap—_

“Princess!” Captain Terila’s yelling whisper bit the silence. “Stop with the tick.”

“Aaaaaah,” she whined, wringing her hair, “You don’t understand…how am I supposed to sit still, just-just sitting here? There’s a whole load of information I need to get from that portal user!”

“I don’t care how you do it, but _do_ it! The tapping is distracting your lookout.”

Adora heard Entrapta huff exaggeratedly. The captain adjusted her grip on her long knives in a stretching motion, and remained silent.

“Ooof, that’s a pickle there, Mermista. Maybe the old chop chop can help us somehow.”

“Watch it. We need more finesse here than brute strength. That’s what everyone goes for first, and I love me some brute strength,” she thumbed toward Adora.

The blonde walked over to them as Scorpia began sizing up the sides of the closed drawer between the points of her pincers. Rot and the wear of the elements didn’t seem to have affected it much. The wood looked as dense as the roof beams in the Bright Moon stables, though with a bit more care to sanding and shaping it. No fasteners were visible at the edges, nor mismatched dimensions. The corners were barely worn or dented. _Whoever made this was skilled at their craft_ , Adora admired.

The pair had yet to pry it open. The grain creaked as Scorpia squeezed down, eyebrows low in concentration, as if straining against a hidden bracket. Adora crossed her arms, continuing to watch. Its stability and quality gave it a good chance at holding something useful. Gears in her head were grinding, and she resisted the urge to put her chin in her hand.

“Wait a minute…this isn’t a drawer,” Mermista’s eyes widened. “I’ve read about this!”

Scorpia backed off her attempt, scratching her undercut and throwing a doubtful look, “Look, I know I’m not the sharpest cookie in the sea, but how do you—”

“It was totally in _Mer-Mystery: Sofishticated Tactics_!” Mermista grabbed Scorpia’s shirt collar, sienna irises feverish with excitement. “The murderer fooled everyone by hiding their weapons in a false drawer. Do you see any outline that the handle would actually pull out?”

It was hard for Scorpia to look away to investigate with Mermista’s nose pressed against her own. The sheen of sweat on the Salinean’s tanned face did nothing to allay her fanatic look.

“I-I don’t, uh…not from here.”

“You’re right, Mermista,” Adora said. “The whole thing looks like a box that you’d carry by that handle.”

“Exactly,” she shoved Scorpia back, zipping over to the stone, “So we need to move this and find out another way to open it.”

Adora gauged the size of the stone column to be between one and one-and-a-half Scorpias. She met the dark, incredulous gaze across from her for a moment, and read accurately the “No way” reflected there.

“Well? Punch punch, scorpion girl!” Mermista said.

“Weren’t you just telling me about finesse? You’ve seen what I’ve done today. I wouldn’t bet five minutes’—an hour’s!—worth of hugs on me doing anything to move this without crushing that.”

With pincers tightly clasped in front of her abdomen, Scorpia pointed at the items with her tail.

“Look, we all believe you can do it,” Mermista’s voice returned to her signature bored cadence. “You have the power of friendship, you’re our last hope, blah blah blah, insert something inspirational from Adora.”

The blonde shook herself back to awareness, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Scorpia doesn’t think she can move this with her powers, all five us couldn’t push it off, and you can’t transform...so we need one of your famous speeches.”

Adora bristled on the inside, a shiver trickling down her throat. There was that thought, prowling in the back of her mind, that she had already accepted Mermista's tactless point. She buried the urge to yell in aggravation.

“Okaaaaay…what if you stood here, and aimed your force at the edge of it? The line shouldn’t touch it at all.”

She shook her head vigorously, “It’d still be too close for the box, and that’s the, uh…the last records…well, it’s one of the only things that could help us understand.”

In Scorpia’s stuttering echoes, Adora heard unspoken fears there. _I wouldn’t want to chance that either,_ she bit her cheek, staring at the column.

“Wait, what did Bow mention about your power? Something you threw this morning, in his lab,” Mermista asked.

“He thinks I caught and threw a post—ooooooh, maybe I could do that…” a claw came up to her chin in severe contemplation, “But that’d be the finesse you were talking about.”

“Deeeefinitely better than an explosion.”

“Mermista, what happened in the book?” Adora remembered. “How did they open the box?”

“It. Was. Brilliant. They had to pour water down around it—the box was set into the floor—and the rising level helped lift it out of the hole so they—oooooh, maybe I could do that.”

“Great. Is there water anywhere close?”

Mermista lifted her arms to parallel with her shoulders, palms down. After a couple of calming breaths, a soft gurgling sound could be heard through the cracks in the granite floor. When Adora looked back up, the Salinean’s eyes were glowing with a pale, electric blue. Here they stood, in the ruins of a study, in the once great palace of a royal line of Etheria. _Trying to save the world, yet again._ What might’ve seemed a monumental task years before now gave her bones a little chill, comprehending the power that her friends had at their call. _You didn’t think you’d have friends like these years ago, either,_ the former Force Captain admitted.

Adora quickly took stock of the entrance where Terila monitored the hallway, melded into the rubble she perched on. The glow of Entrapta's datapad softly lit her dim surroundings, distracting her from their growing delay. Scorpia had already begun concentrating, so the tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth said.

“Just think of trying to lift something small, Scorpia. One of Baker’s tiny treats…you’re just moving it from the oven…to the counter,” Adora said softly.

The Princess nodded ever so slightly. The water previously in puddle form had blossomed up to meet the column piece’s underside, molding around it expertly. A cloud of particulate clustered and vibrated faster, what with the internal current strengthening to help push. There was the tiniest of squeaks from the box, like a mouse’s objection. Scorpia’s eyes shot wide open.

Adora continued reassuring her, despite her own chest thumping, “It’s alllll right, don’t worry…keep pushing slowly.”

Brow furrowed, Scorpia set at the task again. The squeaking grew, interrupted now and again by a shift from the box. Then scraping began, and the wide, pale face above her exoskeleton cheek ridges grew taught. The combination was a frightful symphony and crescendoed as directed by Scorpia's cringe. Adora opened her mouth to offer another image, when the column suddenly burst upward.

As if they could catch it, both Force Captains had their arms shot out in front of them, pincers shaking and hands steady. The Princesses held their breath. Loosened stone chips fell off, an avalanche in the aftermath. The gap between the wooden box and the monstrous piece of masonry was enormous. Possibly as wide as the distance between Scorpia’s eyelids.

Its base in locomotion, the water plateau crept away with its precious cargo, like a frightened puppy with a bone. Once clear, Mermista nodded probably fifty times in rapid succession. Adora began speaking, calmly, once again.

“Okay. Just bring it back down…nice and—”

**_WHUMPF!_ **

Immediately, Scorpia launched into verbal juggling, “I’m sooooo sorry! I meant to pull it back like you said, but then I thought what if I could just—please don’t hurt me—place it down over there in case there was someth—”

“Shhh!” the blonde cut outward with her hand.

Captain Terila had her gloved hand up toward them, her gaze ever trained on the corridor. Adora's arm hair stood on edge despite all the missions under her belt. Mermista gathered the box up in her arms and dispersed her water with a quiet swish. She and Scorpia were already crouch running toward a sizeable rubble pile they had scoped out as a hiding place before the investigation began. Entrapta dutifully met them via silent ponytails stilts; her poring over information on her datapad was not to be interrupted for something as trivial as bringing the whole army of the Horde down on their position. The last of the group to gather, the captain broke out a glow rod for a modicum of visibility. The looming shadows closed in around them, and too the stark loneliness of the abandoned shelves and broken furniture. The foreboding, oppressive air of the Fright Zone hung around their throats like the tie strings of a poorly fitted cloak.

Terila knelt next to Adora, shielding the rod and throwing them in near darkness, “There was some figure pacing through the great hall, and they must’ve picked up the noise. I saw them start this way.”

“No one else? Did you hear anything?”

“Didn’t seem to be any. A little odd, though.”

“Right? If we were followed, they’d know we were in here and wouldn’t need the sound to confirm. If we weren’t followed, there’s no reason for just one soldier to be wandering all the way out here.”

“Exactly…stars, you haven’t lost anything,” Terila’s tone raised slightly with her smile.

“Well, we’re about to find out.”

The sword hilt slid naturally through Adora’s grasp to its proper place, comfortably into her thumb’s pocket. Bo had Bright Moon’s blacksmiths make one as close the dimensions of the Sword of Protection as possible (though she had gone back to request another for strictly practice purposes). She relaxed into her preparedness, muscles loosening but ready to pounce. Slowly rolling her shoulders, Adora cleared her mind and opened her sense to the entire room. Save Scorpia, the others had slowed their breathing, as well.

Footfalls entered into the room. They were agile, without stuttering. Two steps more and they halted. Adora heard Scorpia stop breathing altogether. _She knows her steps, too._

“Heeeeeey Adoraaaaa…” came the voice slinking out of the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last piece took me the longest to write, and I would've almost lost it completely if my wife hadn't miraculously found my USB drive! I'm glad to finally be seeing progress and build into the meat of the plot. My mind's eye view of utter stillness as Mermista's puddle sneaks away with the box was possibly my favorite part.
> 
> It should be evident now that the chapter titles are chess related, one of my favorite games. While far from religious, Catra is definitely a bishop in that she never moves straight at a problem. And before you comment on continuity errors, trust me--I've got a plan, and there are no errors.
> 
> EDIT: I updated this chapter to have Adora wearing leather armor, since it doesn't realistically make sense for her to go out without protection, now that she can't transform. If you've read this before, you may see that and not remember it from earlier--you're correct :)
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	4. Knights Clash, Column Opened for Rook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Some of my own original concepts and names are thrown in.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story starts after season 4, with no alterations to the events in the series. I would add "Slow Burn" to the tags, but the series itself is a slow burn for Adora and Glimmer's relationship--this story just builds on that.

“Adora, wait—”

Mermista’s protest was too late. The librarian in the far recesses of Adora’s mind knew it came about a year and a half too late, or so the toll of the last couple days made it feel. Over that time apart from Catra, there was no diminishing of the want for violent, direct vengeance—only festering.

The sword was already screaming out of its sheath into Adora’s hand, flanked by her battlecry, and her charge was directly on a collision course with the newcomer. For once, Catra’s face blanked, and its color retreated at the warrior’s vein-filling, ground-shaking, spine-rattling rage. In the nick of time, she slammed a stun baton into the sword edge, and quickly sidestepped. She grunted and shook out her hand, wrist tingling from the impact. Her grin, teeth twinkling in the baton’s electricity arcs, was instantly back on.

“Oh Adora, I’m glad to see you’ve missed me.”

No words—just another strike, another roar. Adora dropped her hip and sliced back upward, but Catra evaded again. Metal clanged on metal, getting easily lost in the expansive study. The slice flowed right into a stab, and Catra’s reflexes were on point. She dodged and pivoted with her baton into Adora’s side. Rolling just out of the way, she rammed her pommel down onto clawed hands and forced a pained yell from her throat.

“Well well,” Catra grimaced, “Doing all right for yourself. Nice to see you’re not slop—”

Adora roared, neck muscles standing out to aid its depth. She stepped in with her barrage, and her opponent nimbly back flipped onto the desk. She swung her sword down, cracking like thunder on the wooden surface, yet Catra leapt to her right, lashing out desperately with a sidekick. It connected with Adora’s jaw, pushing her into a brief halt.

“Finally! So, what exactly did you want in here anyway?”

Adora dashed forward, swinging for her shoulder, “What in that smog-addled brain of yours made you think I’d share?”

“For old time’s sake?” Catra ducked and shrugged. “’Smog-addled’ is a big word, I’m impr—”

A series of three more hacks, all from overhead and filled with fury. Catra spared half a look at her baton’s handle for any cracks. She rolled away and tried for a leg sweep. The blonde ponytail leapt up as its own owner did, which transferred right into a low stab in response.

“Okay, okay, you’re mad at me. I guess I should’ve written, huh?”

Adora crouched for a moment, grunted, and grabbed Catra’s ankle. Straining in a burst of adrenaline, she yanked it as she stood up and deposited her enemy straight down on her skull, dazing her. Stars winked in at the edges of Adora’s vision, too.

“Nope. To be honest, I haven’t thought of you for longer than…huh, probably a minute.”

“HA!” Catra eased onto her side and staggered to her feet. “All that anger and you _never_ thought of me?”

“Oh right, because no one could _ever_ be as angry as you. No one else could _ever_ know what abandonment is like. No, you’re one of a kind, Catra!”

“How would you? How?!” she screamed, swiping out with a backhand slap. “You just go back to your precious Princesses for a pep talk!”

Adora blocked it with her forearm, bracer squeaking, rivets glinting in the dim light, “Forget it. You were always too stupid for reason.”

Snarling, Catra lashed out at her neck. Adora swiftly deflected the baton downward, but it circled back up under her arm. Adora snagged its handle like a vise and aimed her knee for Catra’s stomach. She twisted while still trying to wrestle her baton away. Adora simply cracked her in the back of the neck with her elbow, somewhat softened from the leather.

“What good reason could you possibly have? Give my stupidity a try. I’m sure your other _stupid_ friends would love to see me squirm.”

“So stupid that they slipped out without you noticing?”

Slitted eyes flicked to behind her, the hiding spot by the rubble empty. She growled low, teeth clamped down in frustration.

“What, did I actually pull one over on you Catra?” Adora felt slightly dizzy, elated, when she chuckled, and fired her attacks from her core as she sprung. “Guess I’m believable when my anger—” **_Clang!_** “—isn’t—” **_Clang!_** “—an—” **_Clang!_** “—act!”

“Heh, you’ve been angry before, perfect…little…Adora,” Catra caught her breath, shaking her weapon at her former bunkmate, “But this…this is uncaged…this is _raw_.”

“Oh no,” she breathed deep, “I’m only getting started.”

“Good! Show me!”

The flat line of Adora’s brow, so defined that it blackened her eyes, rose back its normal position. She shifted her left foot backward and adopted an easy stance. The oiled leather smell and shifting squeaks of her armor came back to her awareness.

“You’re not Catra.”

“…did I hit your head? I didn’t think I landed anything. Huh.”

“I thought we were past this.”

Confusion thick on her features, Catra straightened, “I _did_ hit your head.”

“Double Trouble, I know it’s you. Catra doesn’t ask this many questions,” she wiped her sword on an extra bit of sleeve, and resheathed it.

The new smile that came to the angular face in front of her was nothing but sharply devious, “Turns out my character study wasn’t complete. B minus on this one. But you at _least_ have to tell me what’s behind your fury. It’s de _lic_ ious!”

She turned on a heel and made directly for the doorway, her crunching on rubble a hollow sound.

“Oh come ooon…I ended up helping out Glimmer when she needed it, didn’t I? I came around to the ‘good guys’ and all that,” they whined.

Adora stopped dead. Double Trouble didn’t waste any time.

“Still tension between you two? My word…guess the Best Friends bond doesn’t go as far as Rain Bow hoped.”

“She’s g…she’s gone. The Primes took her…I never got to…”

Barely above a whisper, there was nothing to hide the scars in Adora’s voice. Neither the shadows nor the gloom. Crumbling walls and deteriorated décor exhibited more stability than the poor mortal in their midst. For all their travels and impersonations, Double Trouble could adopt a new mindset more easily than breathing. Their magic abilities came without a second thought, and by association, accepting others’ powers of flight, speed, or manipulation of the elements. Until now though, this idea of a soul had been incredibly varied depending on whom one studied. Here, watching Adora’s (annoyingly) wholesome conviction cave to grief illuminated its meaning to them. Soul was the sum of all mental, physical, and emotional capacities, and thus understanding its totality from person to person was near impossible.

Adora’s soul had cracked. The needle-tooth smirk on Double Trouble’s face fell. As if pulled into a void, their feet urged them closer to the lone figure. By the time they made eye contact again, the stone blue windows were shut. The empty, long nights hung around in the dark circles just over her cheekbones. _Never thought enhanced vision would be useful for seeing_ that _,_ Double Trouble sympathized.

“Do you know where Catra is?”

They shook their head, “Not since the last time I saw Glimmer…eight? Ish days ago? I figured she ran off to lick her wounds. We had a…an honest discussion.”

“Has the Horde heard anything from the Primes?”

 _All business now, such a switch!_ “Not a peep. Banking on their mystery and aura of fear, I wager.”

She paused, “So, why are you still here?”

“Well it’s certainly not the _scenery_ , if you know me. Call it an ongoing immersion. I’m building up Catra’s crazy eyes with the troops, as it were.”

“When it comes time…where will you stand?”

Adora’s visage was hard, vacant of a single line of expression.

“Oooh…I think I’m ready for a good underdog story,” one slitted eye winked.

“You’ve made us believe that before.”

“Unless you’ve completely traded up archetypes on me and decide to kill an unarmed person, Miss Goddess of War, Muscles, and Fabulous Light Shows, you’re just going to have to…”

The ragged appearance, the oxblood dyed leather reminiscent of battle wounds, the thread of defeat woven into Adora’s frame: it came together in a page of Double Trouble’s mental sketchbook.

“You can’t transform, can you?” their tone dripped with giddiness. “You would’ve torn Catra to _shreds_ if you had! Pleeease give me the details!”

Determined to follow through with her exit, the young woman turned away one last time.

“Looks like we’ll both need to learn some trust.”

* * *

Bow touched down on Swift Wind in the front courtyard and hurried off, not even sparing a glance for Shadow Weaver by her outdoor garden. There were so many moving parts—in his mind _and_ in the palace—that even Swifty’s gripe at being used like a ferry failed to pull at his heart strings. Surely of all people in the Rebellion, standing beside Princesses, who would live on in legend, and on the grounds of a symbol of historic unity like Bright Moon’s palace, the simple Bow could empathize with the winged horse.

 _But war is war, and that’s where we’re headed,_ he solemnly pushed on.

He hated himself a little more.

Jogging down the hall to the Infirmary Wing, he positively buzzed with excitement. Bow’s instinct to skip the Fright Zone recon mission for a chance to check in with his dads proved the beneficial path. The discovery of the Besk Mergin name had fed his thoughts a current of brainstorm energy: a possible solution to the Valley of the Seekers. Armed with new facts, and riding on a new wave of fresh spring scents, he got to the stranger’s recovery room at an admirable pace.

Sunset was fast approaching, and a blaring gold light was digesting the room. King Micah sat calmly at the bedside, deep in thought over some sort of metallic bracelet. The stranger observed Bow impassively upon his entry, blinking two of its four black eyes. It was sitting up in bed, chest bare with bumpy skin not unlike a toad’s. Its elongated forehead sloped back gently into a cranium slightly taller than a human’s, but if it held any anxiety, Bow didn’t find it in worry lines. The four lanky arms rested at its sides.

“Hello,” it greeted him.

He smiled cautiously and held up an opened palm, “Uh…hi.”

“Ah, Bow! This is Kesquentil, or Kes,” Micah said. “Kes, this is our brilliant maker and tinkerer Bow.”

“Is Bow short for anything?” Kes tilted their head.

“No, just…just Bow. My parents might’ve been playing a joke on me. Did I miss any news?”

“I only came to but fifteen minutes ago. We are not known for our constitution, and that plate hit a…a sweet spot, some say.”

“We had just been introducing ourselves. Master Kes was explaining his tracking device and communicator to me,” the king held up the bracelet to the young man, “Combined into this tiny thing.”

The light of wonder pored into Bow’s very fiber as he took it, making Kes chuckle. Bow peered at the orange characters in lights running over and pulsing on what he gathered was a tiny digital display.

“Yes, I see why you said I would be in good company.”

“Given the circumstances, I think now would be a good time to explain the rest of why you’re here, good sir. We can update the others when they get back.”

“Bow, please press the ridge on the side closest to me…yes, that one. Is it permissible to record this conversation?” Kes lifted a hand to point with one of three fingers.

He did as asked, and gawked triumphantly at the corresponding beep, “Oh, it’s _more_ than permissible.”

“Do you know much about the Primes?”

Micah shook his head and redrew his beard’s edges with two fingers, “We don’t. As I understand it, we came back into their universe after about a thousand years of hiding.”

“That is also what I gathered. The Primes are the absolute best at controlling communication and information. Their takeover of planets has been honed to ultimate precision, to the point where no one outside their empire has heard of them.”

“I take it you aren’t among them?”

“Correct. My home was among their early conquests. They came with offers of peace in settling unused portions of our planet, and by the time they gave their ultimatum of surrender or obliteration, it was too late. We did not know they had cut us from all extra-planetary allies.”

“But… _you’re_ here. How can we trust you’re not one of their information controlling measures?” Bow asked.

“Quite right. That question and the thrown plate give me more confidence in your people,” Kes replied. “Unfortunately, since this is your first encounter with both us and the Primes, I do not think you can.”

“Try to lie to me,” the king leveled a stare at Kes. “How many arms do you have?”

“...Ffffour,” Kes’ neck jutted out, then a second time as he seemed to nod in reverse. “Excellent. Did you implant me with something?”

“I cast a spell on you while you were out. We have magic here. I can still…’throw down,’ as the kids say, with the best of them.”

“Throw down. Yes, I have heard that before. Magic? This will be an excellent exchange,” Kes returned his attention to Micah.

“Waaaaait, what exchange?” Bow wondered warily.

“Like the Primes are the best at information, Selasendarions are the best at travel. We at first had the fastest and sturdiest ships, then engine technology, which lead into caloric rich foods and more efficient metals and cloth, and now gates. That is how I used a direct gate into your meeting hall.”

“The portal?! You guys can do that all the time?” the maker squeaked.

Kes reverse nodded again, “We have gated to universes and galaxies beyond the reach of the Primes. We learn the local language, culture, idioms, and use it to encode our communications. And because the Primes have not traveled there—”

“They don’t know to block your messages…because if they found it, they’d just think it’s conversation.”

“Please excuse any interruptions, Master Kes. Bow’s thoughts are best left unhindered,” Micah offered.

“No excuse necessary. Knowledge sits above rudeness for us.”

“Are you giving us gate technology?!!” Bow gripped the recorder tight in his quivering fist.

There was a muffled beep from between tightened fingers. He squeezed it again, still drooling at the thought, to start a second recording.

“That is the question before you. Our alliance shares our technology and information freely, those who fight against the Primes. We are ever outnumbered, and yet we resist. In the short time I have spoken with you, I believe you have already been in some resistance of your own. It is your decision to join yet another fight. But rest assured, you would have a common enemy with _all_ of us.”

“All of Selasendaria?”

For the first time, they saw Kes’ bulbous eyes sink into their sockets, “Sendaria as we know it is long gone. It is now just a coordinate in their empire. Our allied forces have many Selasendarions, but like most of our brethren, our home is no more.”

They sat without words, surrounded by the dying day. Bow relaxed his nerves and folded his hands at his waist.

“If you were to join with us, we would be at your disposal, and you at ours. I came to offer that much. I could not chance that the Primes had already set up an interception perimeter around...”

“Etheria,” the king completed his question.

“Around Etheria.”

Micah looked to Bow for a moment before answering, “Master Kes, I think you are the miracle we were hoping for. If the Rebellion’s council votes as I think they will, we would ask you one favor as a demonstration of your sincerity.”

Bow gasped, “Rescue Glimmer.”

“Rescue our queen,” he smiled faintly. “We have reason to believe my daughter is aboard Prime’s main base, wherever that may be.”

The Selasendarion’s facial skin stretched outward, two hands interlocking loosely, “That would be a challenge…but there is a strong chance it is doable.”

Commotion struck up in the hallway, two guards in armor clanking toward their room. Micah rose and retrieved his staff from the corner as they flanked the doorway. Worry plastered all over, a steward helped his charges into view.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for the intrusion. Princesses Frosta and Perfuma suffered a bit of a dizzy spell, but…they insisted on seeing you.”

Whatever had happened, the Plumerian had no doubt been bombarded, as opposed to Frosta who appeared only a little out of sorts. One of the guards brought an extra chair from a neighboring recovery room, and Bow helped both to a seat.

“Princesses, are you all right? Do you need a healer?” Micah moved to the edge of Kes’ bed closest to them.

“No, I uh…” Frosta shot a suspicious look at the alien, who stared back with earnest interest, “I’m okay now.”

“I most _definitely_ am not! It’s almost as bad as this morning!” Perfuma had shrunk into the cushioned support behind her, as tear tracks glistened along her cheeks. “With all the feelings, and…th-the weird…shadows and…this is awful.”

“You saw the colors again? Around who?” Bow questioned.

“No, not exactly that,” Perfuma sniffed.

“Do you see them around me now?”

A tentative peek up from where Perfuma stared into the bedsheet.

“No…but I didn’t see you this morning. You were…you were over on my right! Oh, Bow!” her crying started anew, “Are you feeling all right? I mean, this morning. Did you feel…oh, I don’t know. Hopeless? O-or distraught?”

“I mean…a little? I think we all are to a point, right?” he shrugged, placing a hand on her forearm. “Do you think you were reading our emotions this morning?”

“I guess that fits, but I don’t know how, or why.”

“Hang on. Why are we discussing this morning? I thought you just now fainted,” Micah thought aloud.

“We almost did,” Frosta told them. “It was more like a headache to me, like I tripped backward and bashed my noggin into the ground. Saw stars and everything.”

“I think…I was awake the whole time but in a dream. The floor was metal, a-and I fell on my knees. And everything was green.”

Bow was grateful for the coppery communicator, now documenting the impromptu interview. His theory was fighting its way back to his active consciousness and grasped to fit another piece into its gaps. He noted Kes had remained silent and open, without leaning forward to intrude.

“Frosta, did you see any of this?” Micah asked.

“Not all. Just in flashes. At the last there was…well, it doesn’t make sense, but it looked like Catra.”

Perfuma nodded, head slumped forward, as everyone else started in confusion. Even the steward and guards, who had shamelessly hung around to eavesdrop with consent.

“Catra was standing above me…on the other side of a-a barrier, like those doors in the Horde’s base. But she was different. It looked like…she looked like she merged with whatever Hordak is.”

Not dwelling on the implications, King Micah resumed, “Do you remember anything else? Did Catra have any colors around her?”

“No. I remember,” she shut her eyes, freckles crinkling, “It was a lot like the Fright Zone, the walls and floor…and there were Hordaks! Others, that kinda looked like a stronger version of him. I think their eyes were green too. And at the end, I just…I just covered my face and cried. It hurt so much.”

“Entrapta.”

Frosta’s grumpy expression brightened as her head shot up. Bow couldn’t make the connection and raised an eyebrow.

“What about her?”

“Entrapta said the Primes, and Horde Prime is their leader, right?”

“He is at their head, correct,” Kes interjected. “Her description was of his clones, which are close in appearance to himself.”

“Perfuma…were you wearing fingerless gloves?” Bow asked delicately, as if the wrong answer would break the question.

“Maybe? I don’t…” Perfuma covered her face in desperation.

Quiet followed. Everyone anxiously watched Bow for their next cue, and his insight eased into the room like dawn breaching the horizon.

“Think carefully…because I think Glimmer sent you both a plea for help. And by the sounds of it, she might not have much time left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: First time releasing a fight scene of mine for public enjoyment and scrutiny. I hope it had a flow to it without being confusing or repetitive. Same with the dialogue for plot and "mystery" development. It makes sense to me, but of course another perspective could point out a confusing part.
> 
> You may also think the chapter titles are inconsistent, because a bishop suddenly turned into a knight...well, yeah. Double Trouble is definitely a chess knight because of how they come at a problem--they have multiple possible paths to get to the same spot. Adora's approach to a problem is multi-faceted too, but more from planning than DT's shape-changing ability; additionally, she's much more deadly in close range, which is both a pro and con about a knight on the board.
> 
> For those who've been reading this as each chapter gets published, you'll suddenly notice Adora is now wearing armor. Don't worry, you remembered correctly that she wasn't earlier :) I back-edited the previous chapter to add it in. Realistically, it doesn't make sense for someone to go into a potential combat situation without SOME sort of protection, and shiny metal armor is counterproductive for a stealth mission. Oxblood is a deep red dye color for leather on Earth that I've added into Etheria, as oxen existing doesn't seem too far fetched. Etherians don't strike me as the type who'd raise and kill an animal solely for its blood in order to dye leather, but more like Native Americans in using every /dovetailed conversation on Etherian ethics and culture removed for the sake of not putting readers to sleep/.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	5. Rook Supports Knight, Attack Paths Cleared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Some of my own original concepts and names are thrown in.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story starts after season 4, with no alterations to the events in the series. I would add "Slow Burn" to the tags, but the series itself is a slow burn for Adora and Glimmer's relationship--this story just builds on that.
> 
> POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT: I'm sure you've seen part or all of season 5 by now. I've promised my wife who's away that I'd only watch episode one before they return, but WOW did my inner Glimmadora tear up when Horde Prime showed that video of Adora being surrounded. I swear, if they don't make it canon by the end...
> 
> I definitely read Horde Prime wrong. To me, it doesn't speak to order and efficiency if I desire the decadence of rare foods and a long feast hall that usually only entertains myself. But hey, writing is writing, and as long as they make him interesting for story and character development, I'm down. I was slightly happy to see some echoes of Across the Stars in the first episode, like Micah reassuring Adora, and Bow pointing out her lack of sleep. Some of it was kind of a given, like how Adora would be obsessed with proving herself or disappointed that she can't transform. I'm incredibly anxious to watch the rest!!

“Why would Catra be with Glimmer? On Prime’s ship? I thought she was in the Fright Zone still,” Frosta pointed out.

“Hmmm,” Micah shook his head, hand back on his beard, “Think back on it: our troops never confirmed any sightings of her after we defeated the Horde. We pushed their lines back and assumed she had retreated with them.”

“Yeah, yeah, very possible Catra’s up there too,” Bow agreed.

“All right, let’s say that. You think Glimmer reached out to us because she saw Catra? We _hate_ her. Perfuma didn’t act like that was hate,” Frosta said.

“No, it definitely hurt, like she lost her grip on hope,” Perfuma sighed, and wiped tears away.

“Theeen...that makes sense, because Perfuma tapped into us all this morning. This was more demanding on her than you, Frosta, since she’s more—”

“In tune with her _emotions_?” the youngest Princess snapped at Bow, then relented. “…yeah, that sounds right. But why?”

“I know something of desperation,” Micah imparted, “On the island, I would’ve given anything for a familiar face again, or a non-imaginary conversation. That could be what Catra is to her.”

“Then…that must mean…she helped her somehow,” Perfuma sniffed. “Otherwise, the Catra we know wouldn’t have shown her any mercy. Would’ve sold her out to the Primes right away.”

The comment stirred up a taste in the young man’s mouth like he had had while ignoring Swifty, and his appreciative, faint smile was also a sad one.

“Very true,” Bow muttered.

“I think it’s more important to know how she’s doing this. If she can contact you two, maybe _you_ can contact _her_.”

“Now this ties into the theory I’ve been developing all day, and I found I can formulate quite deeply when I’m trying to block out a talkative, flying horse,” Bow handed the recorder back to Kes. “It’s possible, as Etheria’s stored energy came out and funneled through the Princesses, that their abilities were enhanced. That might be why we’re seeing all these changes, including Glimmer’s visions that ended up in your heads.”

“Not just our heads,” Perfuma reminded them, and Frosta hesitantly reached over to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Light Hope told Adora she was supposed to bring balance to Etheria, but how do you balance plants with ice and snow, water, force, and teleportation? That got me thinking that the powers given by the gemstones were originally broader than that, starting with Perfuma’s bout this morning. Emotions are a part of us, everyone, and they can’t exist without us, right? So what if the Heart-Blossom grants powers not just related to plants, but all life?”

More silence. Kes’ throat was shaking without making any noise, which Bow couldn’t interpret. The Plumerian had straightened up more, covering Frosta’s hand with hers. Considering the thought, Micah bobbed his head from side to side.

“That…all sounds reasonable,” Micah voiced.

“And Frosta. Well, ice and snow are quite random if you look outside the Kingdom of Snows. I think on a wider scale, the Fractal Flake is for things that are not living—”

“You mean I’m a master of death?” her eyes glinted.

“Uh, kinda. Rocks, air, metals, anything we’ve built or created,” Bow ticked them off on his fingers.

“Water isn’t living. Wouldn’t that conflict with Mermista’s realm?” Perfuma asked.

He pointed excitedly in response, “And that’s what I tried to figure out, too. Mermista’s power lies with the change and flow of Etheria, if I’m right. Water is an easy representation of that, because it’s never really still, and it always has some sort of motion to it. She’s not really affecting the water, though, just the movement energy within it. This is still a theory, though, only some thoughts that I had.”

“Undoubtedly, they’re worth pursuing,” Micah encouraged, “What did you think up for Scorpia and Glimmer?”

“I feel we got a head start on Scorpia’s since it’s so new and fresh—we weren’t brought up believing it could only do one thing. Hers could literally be force, like the energy in impacts or electricity or weight. And the Moonstone I think is for space, or presence. Glimmer can transport herself from one place to another, and the pink flares she throws could be transporting the essence of her magic from inside of her to an external place. Now that you’ve had this vision, I believe she inadvertently sent you all her thoughts.”

“Dang,” Frosta said in admiration, “Swift Wind must have _reeeally_ been annoying.”

“I heard that!” came the far-off retort. “I’m. A. De _light_!”

“I have been gathering many things from this discussion. I appreciate the opportunities,” Kes told them. “I may have one or two contacts that can help you sort out these magicks, and I also need to consult with our leaders about the rescue of your queen.”

“Yes of course, manners. Kes, would you invite them for a meal? The others should be back soon, and they would appreciate nourishment too after their mission, I’m sure. What do you…uh,” Micah stood and offered his hand to help their new ally, “What do you eat?”

* * *

Cloud cover was shifting in over Bright Moon. Traces of salmon on its underbelly were the harbinger for yet another dawn. Breezes combed through dark emerald treetops on the bluffs, and whispered to the songbirds dozing in their branches. Cloaked in shadows and shrubs, a dispersed orchestra of frogs and crickets approached the last bars of their serenades. Fingers of fog filtered up from the valleys, gracefully adding one more touch to the backdrop now spread before Adora.

The utter emptiness of a tomb surrounded her, but society demanded it be called a palace. Darkness meant there was no image to upkeep, no one to model for, no demands to fulfill. From where her shoulder pressed against the cool wall, tingles of numbness seeped out into her notice. The window seat cushion had a permanent divot as Adora’s seat, where her shuffling on the fuschia pillows became scoffs of advisors. She lowered her hopes once again to the Sword of Protection’s shards beside her extended leg, laid out meticulously in repose. How could any creation of the First Ones shatter into so many pieces? Her beating heart was just as lifeless when she considered the inevitable dawn outside.

 _What does it matter?_ Adora threw her head back, liquid threatening to spill from reddened eyes and make her already weakened grip on clarity slip. _We get Glimmer back, and we still have to fight the Primes. Kes’ rebels have been running, surviving. Nowhere is safe._ Hemmed in by the barren ceiling, an enticing darkness crawled downward, calling to her in a mocking solitude. The bottles, books, surfaces all around the room had been tidied, sterilized of personality. _I’ve got to…we’ve got to get her back. We need her here._

“Ah, I didn’t think about a rope. My guess was Swifty helping you up to the window.”

Adora failed to move a muscle at Bow’s intrusion, as he coalesced from the shadowed area by the doors. He sat down opposite her, depositing his backpack on the floor.

“I’m surprised you suggested we leave this early.”

“I wanted to make sure I’m back in time, for when,” Adora breathed deeply as if swallowing a tough mouthful, “For when we go to get her.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“…a little. Are you keeping track?”

“Why do you think we hold the morning meetings after breakfast now?”

With effort, she pulled her head back to vertical and surveyed the back of the palace grounds, “Has everyone noticed?”

“What does it matter?” Bow shrugged. “We know you’re going through a _lot_ …right now.”

“I don’t need anyone doubting my usefulness in a fight because I can’t sleep at night.”

Bow deflated a fraction, “Can’t?”

Her jaw bulged, and she twitched her head, fighting a shake of denial, “You’re the master mind of the two of us. You tell me.”

When he came up with no reply, Adora turned to find a softness in his face, bordered with worry and highlighted in the gray of dawn.

“I usually can’t sleep ‘til I’m fully exhausted,” she began, “Most times I’m surprised I can pull myself up here. Then I…pace a bit…or do push-ups or…until I pass out.”

And if she wasn’t barely conscious before sleep took her, Adora’s mind would morph the trees’ deep purples and pink highlights into sleek pink and lavender hair. Spring’s crisp air would remind her of the sweetly sharp floral perfume that should be there instead. The tranquil nightsong would revive her craving for late night whispered dreams.

“Adora, you could’ve come in here without having to sneak in the back way. The guards wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“Right, and no one would’ve spread rumors of how I’m sobbing away my nights in Glimmer’s room like a pathetic little…”

“Like someone whose best friend is in the hands of a banal psychopath? You can’t blame yourself for Prime’s actions.”

“I’m past blaming myself…but that still doesn’t mean I don’t regret leaving her.”

He confided to the window, breathing in the first rays of the sun, “Me, too. For a while, at least. I couldn’t stop telling myself that we should’ve tried harder to talk some sense into her. Or berating myself for almost getting killed on Beast Island.”

“You don’t anymore?”

“If we hadn’t left, we definitely wouldn’t have found the location of Prime’s base. That and the other data Entrapta took from Hordak’s lab were enough to nearly make Kes and his rebels faint with shock.”

“The results can’t excuse us from what we did to get them.”

“Just like losing a week of good sleep won’t excuse you from killing yourself while trying to slaughter a whole fleet of clones?”

The warrior said nothing. She leaned forward with her elbows on her legs, examining her worn and torn gloves. Collecting every change or shift like a precious gift, Bow felt himself turn invisible to her senses. It was a road he couldn’t walk down with her. The way was shut.

“So Lance thinks the Valley can repair the sword?”

Slowly nodding in defeat, he reached for his pack, “He said the older Etherian languages put in dialect markings that most likely varied by region, or context the only the locals would’ve understood. Valley of the Seekers and Valley of the Lost would’ve been identical to some, but completely different translations otherwise.”

“And the stories only talk about the Valley of the Seekers,” Adora confirmed for herself, arching her back in a stretch.

“The references were few and far between. Lance’s mom had told him the legends about when the First Ones arrived. It was like a pilgrimage for them: to help give them direction, or to heal.”

She wrapped up the shards in a large swath of cloth, taking time to separate each in a different area or layer. Adora tucked it into the crook of her elbow, safe against her side.

“If it’s actually the Valley of the Lost, I have to wonder if it’ll be any use. The canyon was a waste last time we were there.”

“I admit we didn’t have the best sampling,” Bow agreed.

In the lonely glow of lamps not yet extinguished, the pair slipped from Glimmer’s room and down the hallway, where their hushed discussion floated away around the bend. The guards were little more than statues now, stoic and unmoving at their posts. The floor length cloaks seemed carved from alabaster, their shrouds from granite, their shadows from slate. The spans of wall struck Bow in their fading expression, too: a less vibrant hue of the rosy gold than was customary. It was appropriate, how immaculate walls could bear the marks of war.

“What did your dads think about your deeper magic theory?”

“Mostly confused, said they’d look up any records that mentioned older generations of Princesses. They’ve only ever treated their collection as preserving history and not something to help with current issues. George is much more reluctant in coming around…what do you think about it?”

“Gee, the First Ones hiding another secret of Etheria from us. I’ll willingly wear a dress the day _that_ would shock me.”

Adora thought she heard Bow choking. As blue eyes met sable, she realized the sound was out of mirth. They shared a quiet, long laugh, and a piece of Bow’s world slid back into place.

“The fact that Scorpia and Mermista also shared Frosta and Perfuma’s vision definitely points to something. Kes could be right, though. It could be a bond Glimmer activated between them all and the Heart of Etheria…and she’s just the first one to feel that strongly,” Adora walked on, entering the council room.

“The Heart went through you, too, didn’t it? Why wouldn’t you have seen it?”

Finally acknowledging the weight settled in her chest, she whispered, “Why indeed?”

He might not have meant it rhetorically, but Bow was more concentrated on triggering the hidden door than her answer. The young woman exhaled and cast her doubt up at the towering mural of the late Queen Angella. Before, when it made her relive the queen’s last request, there was always a physical expansion within Adora’s body, of pride and sincerity. But now, as she and Bow floundered with a weak theory on what these portals could mean, Adora knew she was nothing like that old version of herself. The affirmation that once patched the hole in her resolve was threadbare.

The Valley of the Seekers chamber forced a cool and heavy atmosphere on the pair, but was otherwise unchanged: featureless gray rock, flat ceiling, wavy walls, and the enigmatic reflection portal. Bow had his tracker pad out and was pacing the perimeter.

“This stone must be pretty dense. I can’t get a signal from any other tracker pads to figure out where we are.”

“Okaaay, problem one,” Adora began methodically peering into cracks. “Problem two, what on Etheria do I do with the Sword? Have you seen any sigils or markings?”

“I don’t. I was thinking on the walk over here: maybe figuring out who made the portals would help us find the way out.”

“How can we? King Micah never knew about them, and his whole family has been involved with the mystical and occult parts of Etheria for generations.”

“That and the fact we’ve only recently learned about portals rules out that it was an Etherian who set them up.”

She scrunched up her nose in confusion, “We’ve been alone in Despondos for a thousand years. Who else but an Etherian has ever been on the planet?”

Her question was swallowed by the empty space. When Adora didn’t hear another of Bow’s theories, she looked to find him with one eyebrow raised like a dubious caterpillar.

“Heh heh, right…so, the First Ones were stealing our magic, and what? Did they make these for themselves to sneak around to the different kingdoms?”

“I don’t think so. I’d expect to see First Ones’ runes for their markers, not old Etherian. _But_ …if I found out my commanders were hurting the planet, and wanted to move around and investigate without their notice,” he held up a finger, “I wouldn’t want to use carvings in my native tongue to leave them a trail.”

Adora blinked, “Mara…she was the one down here among the people, learning about them, working with them. The First Ones probably didn’t know the language.”

“Kes’ and his communications tactic lodged that thought in my head. It makes the most sense out of the few possibilities we can imagine,” Bow told her.

“And if she hid all of them…maybe she made this cave’s exit is something only she could find.”

“Something only _She-Ra_ could find.”

“Well, that’s not gonna hap—”

“Shut _UP!_ ”

Her friend’s frustration slapped her from across the room. Tightened fists appeared to quiver at his sides, arresting an apparent yearning to strangle Adora. Or so the anger wrought in the rest of Bow’s body said.

“I’m _sick_ of all this tip toeing around you! How many different ways do we have to show you you’re still capable? Did you come with just to valiantly fail? …or do you want to solve this?” he barked.

“Bow, I’m not—“

“I don’t care about that right now,” he spread his arms wide, shaking his head. “You, one of my dearest and dumbest friends, needs to step up. Right now…I need you to _think_ like She-Ra.”

She huffed forcibly out her nostrils, rolling her jaw, “One of your dumbest friends that can still punch your lights out.”

“That fact was never debated. Think like She-Ra, not Catra.”

“Aaaugh!”

Ripping the Sword of Protection’s hilt from the cloth wrapping, Adora yelled and took two lightning fast steps toward him. He never flinched, but rather met her hateful front with every inch of his own determination. She heaved hot breaths, and slowly brought her temper back down, focusing with all her effort on the real goal.

“If I’m Mara, and I think the First Ones might find these portals…I don’t want them to know it’s me. I hide them in caves that are hard to find… _this_ one’s hard to leave, but I can get here from any location.”

She began searching out a physical answer, scanning the cavern walls anew with age-old eyes. Bow shifted minutely, his pose relaxing with every moment.

“Mara knew her way out of here, but knew the First Ones wouldn’t…they’d be trapped—”

“This is her escape route!” they said unison.

“I need to _act_ like She-Ra, and _think_ like a First One,” Adora rotated and checked the line between the walls and the floor, “Because that’s where the exit _won’t_ be. It’s named Valley of the Seekers—if they could even translate that—so they’d probably think we’re underground and the way out leads up.”

“Meaning it actually leads down.”

Bow joined in, feeling around all the slabs and rock faces on the floor. Adora’s nerves were pulsing. She continued parrying defeatist thoughts that attacked the edge of her mind, as she inspected each crevice for what she knew was the twentieth time. She firmly tapped different sections with the Sword’s pommel and listened for any hollow notes. Ear pressed to the ground, Adora was about to wave Bow to get out of her light when she saw it.

A sliver of shadow, deep in an inch gap underneath a rock shelf, glowed faintly blue.

“Bow! Stay!”

“Hey now. What about a ‘please?’ ”

“What?” she slid forward as close to the crack as possible. “Dumb friends can’t give the smart ones orders?”

“Friends don’t give orders.”

Adora pulled off a glove with her teeth and felt the underside of the slab, “So noted. I’ll look into that further once I figure out this carving.”

“Carving of what?”

“It’s not…wow, reading with fingers is hard. I don’t think it’s old Etherian. There are lines, and a couple dots…and a tri…triangle.”

Adora’s voice faded out, as did the normally robust color in her skin. Bow knelt quickly and touched her shoulder.

“What is it? Do you recognize it?”

She muttered, “It’s me…in First Ones language.”

“What do you mean?”

“It says ‘Adora.’ ”

* * *

Mermista hated sweating. It was her second and fourth least favorite thing to do. The saltiness stung—not like the sea water she was used to mastering, but in a “I’m working hard to fail basic tasks” sort of way. Her clothes clung in awkward places. Hairs at the back of her neck stuck together and brushed over her skin like a mop well past its cleaning days. No matter how times Micah explained it, air just didn’t move like water did. The rock she was trying to levitate in front of Frosta hopped and wobbled on its way up. She stabilized it quicker this time, though it still rolled in midair as if tumbling down a hill.

“Ok, and now Scorpia?”

At Micah’s prompt, Scorpia slowly raised an open pincer in front of her, tongue tip at the corner of her mouth, while standing five feet away. She snipped it shut, and the rock blasted apart into a handful of pieces. Flecks shot off in all directions and Frosta turned her head to avoid them, but kept her hands formed as if shaped around an invisible orb. The small rock sections stayed close, hovering within inches of each other. She had taken easily to the morning’s training, jumping in with wild abandon; Mermista felt her smile was more feral than usual, and that was saying something.

Releasing the air flow, she wiped a tan arm across her forehead and reached out toward a bowl of bubbling pitch on her right as it sat over a burner. It rose up in a bell shape, and a shiny black spheroid oozed up and flopped over the lip. It was lugubrious and weighty, and the Salinean’s will trudged through the web of control like thigh-deep mud. The pulse in her head began pounding.

“Coooome _oooon!_ ” she drawled softly to herself.

“Stop thinking of it like water, Mermista,” Micah said. “Your new magicks are going to be different than the others.”

“Tell that to the Tundra Wonder over there.”

Taking up watch at the edge of their circle, Emily’s pink light flashed and she emitted a high pitched whine, rising slightly higher at the end as it trailed off. Sitting contentedly on top, Entrapta nodded and tapped on a pad that unfolded out of her left ponytail.

“Yes, I believe you’re right, but it was what they call a…a fore-hand compliment.”

“ _Back_ -handed,” Frosta (again) growled.

“Aaaaand…again Scorpia!”

The king’s voice was clipped and excited, as the black slime conformed to the rocks. Scorpia dipped her chin and pointed her pincer forward, lightning cutting a linear vacuum of sound as it raced out. It arced through the gaps and around the rocks, igniting the pitch, birthing a group of flaming missiles ready to launch.

“Ha haaaa!” Micah clapped, face bursting with pride.

“And the last step—“

“Wait, Frosta!”

Twisting her hip and pushing the fiery rocks out over them all, Frosta sent them toward a small pool to the side of the infirmary doorway. Adrenaline pumped through Mermista, spurring her to leap and sink into a wide legged stance upon landing, pulling mentally for all the pool’s contents. Like an oyster reclaiming its pearl, it swung upward and around the ball of flame. Once fully enclosed, the amber fire shrank and at last died out. The water collapsed as did Mermista’s arms, which were now shivering from strain.

“Water can’t put those fires out…trust me, we’ve tried,” she struggled to speak over her own panting. “They have to be…totally cut off…from air.”

“Ooops, my bad,” Frosta flushed.

“A great lesson for everyone then—thank you, Mermista. Let’s…break for a bit. Review what you’ve all learned.”

“Yes! I’ve brought tiny snacks from Baker! She is _definitely_ inexplicable by science.”

The tech princess pointed dramatically, and Emily’s legs unfolded and began their trek to the shade, where several pitchers and plates sat waiting. Micah walked at their rear, inhaling the dusty scent off the limestone cliffs around them. In spite of all the chaos yesterday, he felt progress from this morning. He had risen in the dark to roam the grounds while the dew still made the benches slick and bent the grasses, and the breath of spring nipped at this skin through his clothing.

The people of Bright Moon were generally not early risers, as a leftover from their historical love of nighttime festivals and feasts that honored their kingdom’s name, but there was no reason to expect the other Princesses followed suit. Though reluctant, the young women committed to meeting early as well, cautiously optimistic about lessons with a king and gifted sorcerer. He chuckled in remembering how he had shared in their frustration when he had first been taught how to focus his will and thought. This _must be the enjoyment my masters felt when_ I _was mad at them,_ Micah shook his head.

Absentmindedly, he conjured up a circle of images above his open hand, small lights modeled in the shape of each Etherian gemstone. _It could be a cycle,_ he thought. _Force, life, flow, death, space…the making of something that devolves into chaos, just like a river eats away at mountains to form a canyon, and the dust floats away in kind. Hmmm…_

Trying to accept their independence and prevent his eavesdropping, Micah was biding his time with his semi-trance while the Princesses reviewed their past session. Perfuma to his right sat with legs crossed and eyes shut, half in the outline of pale light that filtered through the leaves and fronds overhead. He had asked that she explore her abilities through meditation, to discover the limits: how long could she hold the images, whether she could single out a person from a group, the distance at which she could sense a living being. Perfuma blinked several times and yawned. Micah dismissed his illusion and joined her on the ground.

“How are you doing? Honestly,” he asked.

“Ooo, uh…a bit nervous. Sometimes I feel I’m going to dive off the deep end, where I can’t control it,” she rubbed her fingertips together from where they rested on her knees. “That first time…it, uh…it hurt. A lot.”

“I can see why that would be nerve-wracking.”

“I’m supposed to love all things, and let them be at the same time,” she stated matter-of-factly. “The second part is harder now. Plants don’t have emotions. I can’t see…let alone _feel_ people hurt and not want to help them feel better. It’s hard to focus on testing myself when I know what else is going on.”

“We call that being objective.”

Perfuma could only nod.

He folded his hands together, scrutinizing the dryness in his wrinkles, “The Horde are people. Aren’t they?”

“Well, yes…but they’ve attacked us. They want to force their way of life on the whole of Etheria,” the Plumerian replied incredulously.

“I’m not defending what they did. I’m merely removing emotions from the situation…have you ever believed a lie?”

“Yes. My parents told me lightning bugs were my dead aunts and uncles so I would stop catching them to put in lanterns.”

“What happened when you found out the truth?”

“I cried a lot. I thought one was my Aunt Cora for years, and it hurt knowing it wasn’t actually her who fluttered over my pictures that she liked, or landed on my hand when I was sad…”

He smiled fondly, “And did you go back to catching fireflies afterward?”

Perfuma shook her head, “I was old enough to understand that trapping them was preventing them from living, from creating more of themselves, and spreading wonder to other children…are you saying the Horde soldiers are being lied to?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps some of them think power is the best thing to have and don’t care what they do to get it, but I can’t imagine all of them are like that. Maybe it’s the only life they’ve ever known. How can we fault them for the lessons they were never taught?”

Maybe it was the probing questions, or the wind stirring up, or the voices encroaching on their close conversation: Perfuma’s mind was reeling. Why was the _King of Bright Moon_ siding with the enemy?

“But that’s…but how? How can you _destroy_ towns and innocents, and not know the pain you’re causing!? They’re on the front lines! They’re holding the weapons!”

“Because some of their parents reward them for trapping fireflies,” he suggested. “Think about what colors you would see…if you viewed the Horde’s emotions.”

Despite her reluctant mood, she shuddered at the suggestion. _Those…murderers?! What emotions would they know besides hatred and disdain?_ Perfuma tried putting a lid on her judgment, unsuccessfully.

“Aaaahh, your majesty. I have a…a message for you,” Entrapta hailed him.

“Oh? Who from?”

“Bow sent it, on my tracker pad. Says it’s for you.”

He stood smoothly, knees crackling, and left the Princess to deal with his questions. Micah took the tracker pad handed to him, and tapped the message with the subject “For King Micah:”

 _Adora and I are back. Our searching and tracking turned up nothing. We spoke with Huntara to ask the oldest Valley residents about possible First One sites. Adora’s being stubborn and I’m forcing her to rest for a little bit before we take off. We’ll be yours in about a half hour._ _–Bow_

He deleted it and handed the pad back.

“All right. Let’s go back to the palace and prepare for Kes’ arrival...it’s time to go get Glimmer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized in my reluctance to flood the story with Glimmadora content that I really wasn't putting in enough, so I hope it was a bit of a reward for everyone. There is plenty more of it to come, rest assured. I faced a bit of writer's block with completing chapter 5, in wanting to get to the action while trying to show how all parts are progressing and still keeping it interesting.
> 
> EDIT: Had to change the title of this chapter, as I realized I had made Bow into a rook symbolically instead of a bishop.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	6. Pins and Exchanges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Some of my own original concepts and names are thrown in.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is essentially an alternate of Netflix's season 5, with no alterations to the events in the rest of the series. I would add "Slow Burn" to the tags, but the series itself is a slow burn for Adora and Glimmer's relationship--this story just builds on that.

_It was a rescue dream, she could tell._ Another shades-cursed rescue dream _, she nearly cried at the admission. Her old friend the ceiling started it off per usual, exhibiting more effectiveness at its job than her mind had ever done—and all Ceiling had to do was_ literally _not move. There was no one at her cell door yet; commotion was audible around the corner, though._ Who will it be this time? _Gimmer joked with herself, sitting up._ Castaspella and Shadow Weaver double teaming it? Another civil war between the clones? Oh, or maybe Swift Wind and Sea Hawk will sing all of them to death. ‘Cause _that_ was torture. _Trying to predict the outcome was the newest game she had invented to save her last bastion of sanity over the past month._

_The worst ones would be with her mom, back from her prison in the Reality Portal. They’d make it back to Bright Moon only to have Etheria torn apart. She didn’t know how many more times she could watch Angella’s image flash to that of an expressionless doll, cracked with bright rouge lightning and soulless eyes. Or it’d be Bow and Adora, where one of them would die and the other two would be captured—in one of multiple ways, and right as they were about to make it off ship. Those were the scenarios after which, when she woke up back in her cell, Ceiling came out with another added to its Win column. Glimmer was no longer sure whether her game was succeeding at its purpose. Nor what it would mean when either side won._

_A smooth curve peeked out on the right side of her cell’s doorframe, stretching for several feet upward from the floor. The ship’s precise construction and straight lines made it stand out, even with its strands of gray that camouflaged with the current palette._

_“Oh good, this one is with Entrapta,” she told herself. “That means it’ll be entertaining.”_

_That familiar face whose description demanded the use of ‘adorable’ popped out, angular chin and all._

_“I was told to be quiet even when I’m excited because we could give away our position…I’m glad you’re okay.”_

_Dream Entrapta’s cadence was oddly more robotic than usual. In spite of herself, Glimmer felt a nostalgia at her forwardness, and stood into it._

_“I’m excited to see you too.”_

_Goggles up, Entrapta stared for a heartbeat, then replied, “Yes…yes, I can confirm I was excited about seeing you…and definitely less excited to see this advanced security system.”_

_Glimmer raised an eyebrow, mumbling, “This is gonna be a weird one, all right.”_

_“I’ve always found ‘weird’ weird,” Entrapta started in on the door control panel again. “Everyone’s weird. Music is weird. Choices of footwear are weird. If everything is weird, then what’s normal? Language is illogical.”_

And another strange turn, _Glimmer thought, leaning against the concave wall and delving into the topic anyway._

_“You’re right, weird just means different. But the science varies depending where you are, right? So does language.”_

_“I don’t understand. Please explain.”_

_“Welllll…if you drop a ball on a hard surface, it will probably bounce a little. Under water, it may float up or drop.”_

_Entrapta’s hands flew out about typing, but didn’t distract her from multi-tasking, “But the science is consistent within each set of parameters.”_

_“And words are constant within certain context—but not across_ all _situations. What’s weird to me…er, what’s weird in Glimmer parameters may not be weird in Entrapta parameters.”_

_Face placid, Entrapta paused and stretched to the side as if examining another screen, as if a new lifeform had entered their proximity. She retracted her neck and carried on._

_“I don’t see a way to disprove that…so I think your theory might sta—”_

_“Entrapta! There’ll be more coming, hurry!” Bow’s distinct whisper-yell butted in._

_“Aaaaugh!”_

_Glimmer slammed her fist into the wall, and this time, the sensation crushed into the boundaries of her dreamworld. Horde Prime, her waning mental defenses, Ceiling, and time had concocted another cruel formula for luring her into a failed attempt. Now, she only longed for the dream’s end, whatever it would be._

_“Quiet was given as my condition…but evidence shows that expands to everyone, I’m at least 89% sure,” Entrapta said._

_“Ooooh, what will it matter? We get back to Bright Moon, Swifty learns how to cook or whatever, we all laugh, I wake up back here. Big deal.”_

_Pain lancing deeper past her knuckles, Glimmer tried shaking it out._ Must’ve caught the floor in my sleep…come to think of it, _she squeezed her shoulder blades together and grimaced,_ I feel everything.

_“What’s going on, here? Bow said to keep quiet…”_

_Suddenly, and even more yet also less painfully, there was Adora. Asking a clean question. Breathing and making decisions. Most importantly, standing hardly two feet from her._

_“I_ am _being quiet,” Entrapta explained, oblivious to their mutual stares. “Glimmer punched the wall, and she has been hallucinating. She thinks science and language are compatible. Also that we’ve tried rescuing her before.”_

_Adora had yet to speak, fixed utterly on Glimmer, and to her own credit, the prisoner felt no self-consciousness. The blonde appeared definitively older, bone-weary, smoldering with an inner fire which was slowly diminishing. She was about a head taller, as always, straw-gold harnessed into her ponytail, sword strapped to her back, and in place of her staple Horde jacket was new leather armor that did all the right things with her well-knitted frame._

Of _course_ my dreams find a way to make her shoulders even broader, _her brain gawked._

_“Glimmer, we’re…are you all right?” Adora choked out._

_“Could be a lot worse.”_

_A rising optimism tugged at her, clawing at her spirit like a cat scrambling up crumbling rock scree, and she was on edge, trying to prepare for a monumental loss when the details fell apart. An electronic wheeze and an ‘ooooOOooh’ of Entrapta’s curiosity later, the barrier field fizzled out. Adora stepped tentatively closer, delicately lifting her friend’s hand to inspect. The glove Glimmer felt was bristly, its interior stiffly formed from long hours being curled into a fist._

_“Are you sure? Why’d you punch the wall?” came the whispered inquiry._

_“Why…do you care?”_

_She couldn’t take it back. The question was out, and the queen knew unerringly that Horde Prime had stolen her last shred of humanity: that she could be so callous to Dream Adora, when here she had every opportunity to pretend that she hadn’t blamed the real world counterpart for her mother’s death._

_But then Glimmer watched as Adora lowered her head, reverently kissed her bruising knuckles, and gently encased her hand with both of hers._

_“Because Bright Moon’s Princess trusted me a couple years back, with her kingdom…and her life.”_

_And there it was, the storm blue irises and their candor which her dreams could never get right._

_“You’re…is this real?” Glimmer felt her voice ask. “Are you really here this time?”_

Adora answered by engulfing her in a fierce embrace, ardent and sure, along with the specters of her fear and confusion and doubt. Glimmer pressed back hard against her, holding on for all she was worth despite her throbbing hand. The solid warmth surrounding her, the barely discernible tremors, the prospect of home, the hand cradling the back of her head—it was all real. _They came…they came for me._

Words restored the onslaught of reality, and their eternity of stolen moments came to an excruciating end.

“We need to get out of here quickly,” Adora said, holding her at arms’ length. “Can you teleport?”

She wiped away the start of tears, “I-I haven’t tried. I didn’t want to chance using it all up in case my plan didn’t work.”

Adora kept contact with her wrist, shifting backward and pointed down the empty hall toward a shadow. Rubbing her eyelids and squinting, Glimmer picked out an abnormal outline, nothing that would fit in with the architecture she knew—and hated—all too well.

“Can you get us there?”

She grabbed Entrapta’s arm and like a bedridden patient returning to their feet, teased her magic with a shaky will. Her next conscious sensation was a pair of strong hands at her sides, preventing her fall and correcting her dizziness in the near darkness.

“Glimmer!”

More discreet celebration launched itself at her from the alcove’s perimeter. She was sandwiched between Perfuma and Frosta, incapable of ignoring their distinctions: tall and pliable, short and solid, and welcome all the same. Her starved sense of touch feasted. Her breaths came out with hysterical but relieved laughs.

“Oh, I am…I am so happy to see you guys.”

Bow’s brilliant smile broke out of his dark silhouette, “Us too…very happy.”

He stretched out one hand from where he crouched at the edge of their hiding place, his other holding an arrow on his bow shelf. Letting her tears free, she wrestled away from her affectionate captors and latched onto his side, bruises and swollen joints be damned. _Let these last_ , she thought, eyes shut tight. _If this is all still a dream, let me remember._

Adora sunk down opposite them, “Any more clones come around?”

“A quad of them ran across, about forty feet down,” he gestured with his head along the arm of the T intersection that ran away from them. “They have to know something’s up.”

“Probably got called to Prime’s command center,” Glimmer supplied quietly. “He has no surveillance in the halls, just the prison cells.”

“He told you that?” Bow asked, shocked.

Her wan smile was leagues more confident than she felt, “He wasn’t the only one working a plan.”

“Can you tell us anything else? About the ship?” Adora pressed.

“Just that,” Glimmer shook her head. “That’s the only place they took me when I left…my cell…it’s horrid, Adora. Rows of clone pods with no end. They just go up and up toward the ceiling. I couldn’t even see it…just darkness.”

“In his command center?”

She nodded, drawing her limbs back from her half-hug with Bow, tucking into herself.

But Bow knew Adora’s tone. He found her blank expression gazing through the wall on the other side of the intersection. Her grip on her sword slackened, the usual rigidity she carried nowadays washed out. There was a plan forming in that head of hers. A dangerous one.

“No, Adora. Not now,” his hushed command bit at her.

Gimmer started, realizing she was drifting off into a memory. She saw Adora attempting to glower a hole into the archer’s challenging stare, her face set.

“What? What ‘not now?’ ” she tried to coax out a response.

“We were supposed to get Glimmer,” Bow gritted his teeth. “That’s. All.”

“Horde Prime is right there. How many chances—”

“You’re in no condition to fight him right now, and I really don’t want to bring _your corpse_ back with us,” he cut her off.

“What if we scouted it out?” Glimmer proposed. “I can get us to a spot high up where he wouldn’t be looking, and Adora sees if there’s anything I missed. Then back, easy as rice.”

They all considered it a moment. The unseen gripe between Adora and Bow backed down.

“It’d be a waste not to,” Frosta said. “Just do it quickly. Twelve minutes ‘til Kes gets us.”

Before another lecture could muster, Glimmer lunged for Adora’s knee, and they were whisked away. A dry air flow buffeted Adora immediately, as they perched on a mechanical box some fifty feet above the main platform’s level. Below them appeared to be a door frame and a walkway that extended out to the center in a water droplet form. The chamber _was_ massive, at minimum three times the size of Bright Moon’s throne room. The mere estimate of the numbers of a clone assault force piled onto Adora’s calculating mind.

On either side of them was a round pod, clamped between segmented mechanical arms, which housed an unconscious clone floating in a yellowish-lime green liquid. The setup looked to be repeated anywhere up and down the walls of the chamber, though they couldn’t even see a wall to confirm that’s what contained this vault. Each clone was unmoving, a potential monster at rest.

“This is where he brought you?” Adora asked, barely audible.

“Yeah, same route everyday. Didn’t have a chance to see anything else on the ship.”

“What did Prime do? Or the clones?”

Ever so carefully, Glimmer rearranged her legs to ease the strain on her injured knee.

“Just…ask questions, or take me to or from my cell.”

“Did he ever open one of these things?” Adora pointed to the huge orb behind her.

“No…actually, I never saw more than four clones. Ever.”

“We’ve got to assume he has more than that, though. I mean, this _is_ his central base and all. It’d be a huge weak point to leave it unmanned.”

“Even so, you’d think I’d notice more than one squad of clones after a whole month.”

Adora furrowed her brow, “This is only the eighth day you’ve been missing.”

“Nooo…I’m pretty sure I haven’t forgotten my counting. This is twenty-nine.”

“Glimmer, I’m well aware of how long you’ve been missing. The whole council, your people, too. I can show you when we get back to…”

Adora was no longer in focus. Her friend was shooting daggers at Horde Prime, still thankfully oblivious to their position. The familiar white noise hum of the chamber descended on Glimmer in full force. Her anger at every session. Frustration at being useless. Annoyance that he could just _sit_ there, at his screens. And now the rage that her mind had been toyed with.

“Take him out. Just do it,” Glimmer told her.

“It’d be an honor,” Adora’s scrutiny zeroed back in on the distant figure, “But Bow’s right. Now’s not the time.”

“What?! It’s perfect! You’d catch him off guard.”

“I couldn’t guarantee that. I’d have to get down from here first, and we don’t know how much you have left.”

“She-Ra can jump off _cliffs_ ,” Glimmer hissed. “You can handle that no problem.”

“I’m not She-Ra anymore.”

Ready on the balls of her verbal feet, Glimmer’s retort slipped. The confession came like a reflex, right on the heels of her own words. It fell so plainly, coldly from Adora’s lips. Nothing followed.

“Wait…what? How?”

Adora cast a long look around, “A lot’s happened since you were taken, but we can’t keep talking here…let’s go back.”

Mouth agape, she took in the sight of her friend with new knowledge. The armor. The sword –metal, no First Ones’ symbols on its blade. Her waist held a belt and two square pouches, the top of her gray tactical pants was covered by her thigh armor, and a plain hilted knife stuck out of her boot. She realized her childish naivety under a wave of sorrow.

But Adora was looking at Glimmer now, as if she had heard inside her head, her heart. She placed her gloved hand gingerly on the queen’s forearm.

“Ready?”

They flashed back into the alcove in the middle of Bow frantically signing for silence. He then pointed to Frosta, Perfuma and Entrapta, and lastly Glimmer and Adora. His hand turned flat, palm toward the floor, and he slowly lowered it, then gestured twice at the hallway leading away from Prime’s command center. The rest of his body, however, was trained on the direction of Glimmer’s former cell.

They crept out in the order indicated, walking as softly but as swiftly as they could. Drawing his arrow back to half and tabling it low, Bow eased himself fluidly into their rear guard position. It was two steps past when their heart rates returned to normal that punctuated echoes cut through their very bones. Hurried footsteps entered at some point along the hallway, aiming for their position. Frosta started running, still light on her feet, and waved everyone to stay close. Glimmer could feel her throat constricting, the chill of impending doom racing over her skin.

_This is it. This is when I wake up._

They reached an open doorway into what looked like a utility room—crates and supplies meticulously sorted and organized. Mermista and Scorpia stood guard on either side of its entry, poised for attackers, but instantly the shadow lifted when Glimmer arrived. Bow and Frosta swapped them for guard duty to allow for the last of the reunions, and Glimmer’s emotions hit another crest on the wild ride that had been the past couple of minutes.

“They’re suuure coming now,” Bow told them.

“Perfuma, can you tell how many?” Adora asked.

The Plumerian dipped her head as a perplexed Glimmer watched. A green haze was leaving her vision when her eyelids lifted.

“It’s weird. I-I can’t feel them at all.”

“’Sall right. We can make do,” Adora’s tone was firm, collected. “Teams like we discussed, let us know if you need a break. Entrapta, Perfuma—see if we can use anything from these supplies. Glimmer, well…we weren’t sure what condition you’d be in, so whatever backup you can give is…an _incredibly_ welcome bonus.”

Glimmer caught the tiniest of smirks from her friend, that sparked confidence inside. One more affectionate squeeze for Scorpia and Mermista, and everyone prepared for impact.

And _was_ it an impact. The clones were no green ears for close combat, surprisingly agile for what Glimmer remembered of their somber, predictable movement. Mermista’s water columns wrapped in crimson lightning from Scorpia proved a fatal and spectacular combo. Able to keep a wide cushion with ranged attacks, Bow and Frosta stepped in between and out of each other’s shots like a dance, to the melody of probability and rhythm of openings. With building curiosity, Glimmer witnessed Frosta retrieving spent arrows whenever she dispatched a clone. After the third time, she knew she had definitely seen the smallest girl’s hand shoot forward, close into a loose fist, then pull back toward her hip; the arrow would slide back to Bow’s feet, to be plucked up and smoothly returned to his weapon or quiver.

“Ready?!”

Glimmer heard a wavering shout above the din. Perfuma leaned into the doorway, checking for gaps in the fighting, while glancing to the back of the supply room. Hands poised on a four-foot high container, a grim-faced, goggled Entrapta nodded sharply, and started pushing. Her hair braced against the stack behind her for extra leverage. Perfuma leapt out, lithe arms shooting forward, and flooded the corridor from ceiling to floor with white flowers. The enormous petals blocked all visuals, and the clones disappeared entirely. The curtain wasn’t sturdy at all, torn apart by their claws in fifteen seconds, but she was able to bring up several in a row, each more infuriating than the last. The distraction gave Entrapta cover to safely move the container and leave it as an obstacle, effectively narrowing where Bow and Frosta had to aim. Glimmer smiled widely at the plan, _look at those two, working together._

“Who is this…uh, Kes? We’re waiting for? How’s he getting on the ship?” Glimmer asked when they dropped back to the room for safety.

“Aaaaaahh, Glimmeeeer, you’ve missed so much! He’s a portal making species, and he’s been all over the universe,” Entrapta gushed. “They can travel anywhere, and their science is light years beyond ours—yes, they measure years in _light_. It’s amaaaazing!”

“Portals!? You got here through a portal? And reality didn’t end?” Glimmer’s eyes put saucers to shame.

Perfuma replied distractedly, flinching at the combat nearby, “And we found portals in all the kingdoms. A lot of strange things have been cropping up.”

“There are so many experiments I need to run, but King Micron won’t let me do much.”

“King _Micah_ , dear.”

“That’s what I said.”

“But that’s…my dad…my dad’s alive?!” Glimmer perked up.

Perfuma nodded sympathetically, “A _lot_ of strange things.”

“Entrapta, how much longer?”

“Mmmm, about seven minutes.”

Bow yelled for a reprieve, and Adora jumped in with blades drawn. He crawled in and sat back against the metal doorframe, winded and flexing his hands. Perfuma pulled a small canteen from a pack Glimmer just noticed was strapped to her lower back, and he gulped down a few mouthfuls. Two clones slammed Scorpia into the wall, holding her pincers far apart. With a cry of fury, Mermista rammed her trident into the back of one, then blasted the other with a swarm of mechanical runoff she called up from the drains. The second clone fell across the entryway, dazed, and he rolled around to see them all sitting on the floor.

He snarled, “You are—”

A bright neon pink cloud exploded on his face, and then the light in his eyes went out. Scorpia, claw’s edge raised to cleave it at the neck, gave an appreciative nod to Glimmer and spun back into the fray. The other three surrounding her imparted silent thanks as well, but Entrapta couldn’t look away.

“Boooow…”

Dark forehead creased inquiringly, Bow followed her line of sight to the body. The shiver was evident as he thoroughly considered the unspoken question.

“Glimmer, do you know how the clones function? Can they communicate with Prime?”

“It didn’t seem like it, but they do think a lot alike…and he is _very_ strategic.”

Bow rustled around in a side pouch and took out a length of braided metal cable, “Let’s bind his hands, then. If he’s still alive, I don’t want any surprises.”

“Frosta, _RECOVER!”_

The deep, full-throated roar took them all by surprise, as Adora hastily kicked back a clone and rammed her dagger into another’s throat. Frosta had pushed up to the container, dispatching the enemy with a disturbingly deadly grace. Ice pillars cracked spines, shards punched through limbs and chests, and the bodies piled up. Her gained ground opened a gap, though, exploited by the clones which flooded the other opening and surrounded her fighting partner. Adora was pressed back against the corridor wall, surrounded, blows less effective without room to swing. Glimmer and Bow hopped up, throwing three of them off Adora before they were fully standing.

What Glimmer should have done (and would berate herself later because of it) was split her missiles between Adora’s crowd and the others running past. As she recoiled to manifest another shot, two clones leapt for Mermista’s blind spot. The congestion of tripping hazards and moving bodies made one lose its footing and roll towards the other.

“Mermista! Behind!” Bow yelled, charging in.

But it was too late. As the Salinean twisted to drive her trident head down, the stumbling clone buried his claw-like fingers in her upper thigh, and raked to her knee. Bow slammed into the clone’s chest, and its head whipped back into the wall, then slumped lifelessly to the floor.

“Back, Frosta! Hold our line!” Adora shouted again.

Mermista knelt with her bad leg away from the fight, stabbing out at her opponents to keep them at bay. To her left, Scorpia gaped at the fresh red blood in her friend’s wound, momentarily immobile with shock. Glimmer fired off a couple more at the closest enemies.

“Scorpia, c’mon! We need to keep—”

The next clone ducked under her hand, threw its shoulder into her gut, and then they collided with the unforgiving floor. Threads of light winked in and out on the edge of her vision. With the wind knocked out of her, she groped around for the clone’s head in a panic and conjured a mass of searing light between her hands. The clone shrieked and wrenched backward, further helped with Glimmer’s knee. As it swiped around the area, trying to clear its daze, she delivered a heel kick to its chin. It, too, flopped down unconscious. Gasping, pushing up to her hands and knees, she tried to call out.

“Scor…Scorpia! Snap…out…snap out of it!”

“We need to get…Mermista to cover…that leg needs…raaa! A dressing right away,” Adora heaved another clone off her sword.

Futilely, Perfuma tried her screen of petals again. Glimmer finally found some footing, standing on the edge of the action. Cover fire from herself and Bow helped Mermista gradually scoot back and limp toward the room. As a last resort, Glimmer discharged a flare right next to Scorpia’s ear and adopted the sternest gaze the Queen of Bright Moon could ever give. Dark, terror-stricken eyes met hers.

“Scorpia, we cannot do this alone.”

That must have flipped the switch in her brain. With a double take at their mission’s state, the mountain of a woman stepped away from the wall and shot from her pincers a web of lighting and force, wrenching the metal walls outward as it went. The reverberation sent most everyone into a stagger, save for the clones that it fried on the spot. Temporary deafness was a small price to pay for a minute’s worth of life.

Adora cut down one last straggler that Frosta had missed and took a moment to reassess. She tossed an extra bandage from her supply, as Perfuma’s was already bleeding through. The other corridor seemed empty of life. Scorpia sidled over to the middle to act as Frosta’s backup, though Adora kept her in her awareness after seeing her frozen solid. The pallor taking over the Salinean slipped apprehension into her nerves—there was no doubt that wound was minutes away from killing her.

“Uh, Adora? Are you seeing this?”

She turned to Scorpia’s request, at first taking in Frosta’s battle efficiency. The short powerhouse was on the highest of rolls. Squats and flawless pushes. Elbow jabs and knee thrusts. The Force Captain in the two observers was thoroughly impressed. But a more unnatural motion came to the fore upon closer inspection. Frosta wasn’t throwing their bodies around with ice. Not with snow sheets or frozen fists.

She was manipulating the clones _themselves_. She was pitting them against each other.

Scorpia uttered a single word.

“Cripes.”

“If Horde Prime gets wind of that…” Adora trailed off.

“We need to get her back he—”

And the blonde was already in motion. She fought her way up in front of the Princess of Snows—whose pupils had glazed over in blinding silver—and shifted back into her threat zone.

“Adora! What the…”

Scorpia remained tentatively to her left side and slightly behind, “Frosta, you _need_ to come back. Your power is uh…it’s too much.”

“Right?! This is amazing.”

Adora grunted out, “Frosta, trust us—let it go for just a moment.”

Bow’s desperate yell hit her in the hollow of her chest, “Adora!”

She groaned in frustration. _There’s just not enough_ time _!_

“We’ve got to be close to Kes’ arrival. Pull back smartly, and use the Exit Strategy when I give the word.”

Slitting one last knee on an unaware clone, Adora rushed back to the supply room, where the scene throttled her dangerously low store of energy. Mermista was teetering on the edge, hopefully just of consciousness. Perfuma’s thin, bloody hands were wrapping yet another round of gauze on the slashes. A telltale pool was forming by her knees. All other pleading faces looked to her.

“What do we do?” Bow asked, with an aching, dire worry.

 _What can you tell him, Adora?_ She chided herself. _When have we ever seen someone die? If you assure them with a lie and we can’t save her, will you blame yourself?...will we ever forgive ourselves?_

“Perfuma,” Adora knelt next to her, her hoarse voice lending sincerity to her words, “What does your magic tell you about Mermista?”

“Do you really think that’s going to help _now?_ ”

She had never been the target of that type of heat from the Plumerian save two times. Now was not one when she’d be getting an apology. Perfuma continued her ministrations, aiming her fiery mood at the bandage and not Adora.

“I do…because you’ve been able to heal plants, right?”

The embedded thought locked that possibility up tight in Perfuma’s mind. Immediately she withdrew her hands.

“Ooooh no no no no. No, I could e-end up digging too deep for my power, and just cause more d-damage. We’re so different.”

“I think what I say may sound unfeeling, but the healing processes for plant and animal matter are biologically quite similar. It’s simply the composition that varies,” Entrapa chimed in, albeit much less chipper than her normal.

“I know it’s different,” Mermista’s raspy words were strained, “I really do…but if I can get past _my_ stubbornness…so can you.”

“But what if it turns out more harmful? If we just wait, we’ll h-have—”

Her ramble skidded to a halt when she felt Bow’s very warm, very present hand on hers.

“Perfuma, you’ve got to try. She may not make it to our healers,” he told her. “Use us as your anchor.”

She whimpered, spine going somewhat slack, and gave in. With agonizing slowness, Perfuma brought both of her hands to the wounded leg. Glimmer added her own hands, softened with reassurance and empathy. They all saw a sheer curtain of centering pass over Perfuma in steadying her body’s rhythms. Glimmer watched Adora stare at the joined hands, at war with some puzzle to unravel; instead, she rubbed Perfuma’s back in circles, then quietly rose to stand watch near the doorway.

The scene didn’t change for some time. The brash pulse on Mermista’s thigh was the only movement, the knocking on a one-way door. Glassy sienna eyes fluttered shut, and her lungs seemed to fake their normal functions. The pounding from deadly possibility in Glimmer’s chest threatened to unleash panic and flood her rationality. Second guesses were right on the horizon, with their delight of triumph dripping like poison from their talons. They thirsted.

Bow’s gasp flung her mind out of harm’s way, and a surprising azure light cloaked them all. What Glimmer assumed was the long-awaited portal had appeared behind her, between their cluster and the wall. Unsure whether an exit or Mermista’s stabilizing was more important, she looked for cues from Bow. It was at that time a new colored pool began to grow, under their hands and on top of the wound—a rich, swirling pine green that filtered into veins and skin alike. The sight was how Glimmer imagined venom would consume a person’s life, from a vicious creature on the Crimson Wastes. But this was right here, right now; and its origin from the Plumerian planted a small seed of hope.

Five more pulses of growing and shrinking, growing and shrinking, and then the misplaced color faded from Mermista’s skin. The bloodflow had slowed considerably, breathing more regular. The sea Princess moaned lightly, but gave a feeble thumbs up. Bow gripped Perfuma’s hand with caged excitement.

“That was…amazing, truly…don’t you _ever_ doubt yourself again...okay?”

“Okay,” she blushed, conceding.

“All right. You three: get Mermista through that gate. I’ll get the clone. Adora, get…blast it! Where is she?”

Adora had disappeared from her watch post. Despite the flurry of objections, Glimmer ducked out into the hallway to catch the blonde laying one final solid kick into a newly downed clone. Upon noticing her friend without a telltale sign of sorrow, Adora quickly wiped fluorescent green slime from her blades. Her order to the last estranged Princesses tore out of her throat, desperation in her cracking voice, as she ran back toward the supply room.

“Frosta, Scorpia… _now!_ ”

Another sonic volley ricocheted down the corridor from what Glimmer guessed was Scorpia’s arsenal. Adora was ushering her toward the glowing portal, and the other two followed close behind, rounding the corner at break-neck speed.

And just like that, it was gone.

The cacophony, the blaring overhead lights, the brutish, unwelcoming landscape of metal, the torture from each hour of each day of captivity disappeared. For Glimmer, it was replaced with the soothing radiance of yet another portal, swaddled in a foreign chamber of calming gray stone. Her body gulped in Etheria’s clear air and sighed in Her freedom. Her mind reveled in the distance now separating her and Horde Prime. As for her spirit, it basked in the misty eyes of a man she had last seen a lifetime ago. She surrendered to the long overdue contact. King Micah cried openly into his daughter’s mussed hair, in front of an audience now forgotten.

“Oh, my Glimmer…my sweet angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still haven't watched past the opener for season 5, so no spoilers please! I've been debating on getting to it so I can guarantee it won't influence AtS.
> 
> This story has been a refreshing return to writing. It's one of my deepest passions, and real life events have put a bad taste in my mouth whenever I try to return to my book in progress. I thank you all for your support and coming with me on this journey. Hopefully the mysteries and foreshadowing aren't too out there to completely miss them, but aren't obvious enough that a six year old could predict them. Getting back into writing has also been a reminder at how the story can dictate itself sometimes, like where to stop chapters, or how to mess up the character's plans, or what those accidents lead into. Feeling Calliope flow through me these couple of months has been a huge reward and comfort.
> 
> As for the chapter title, a pin in chess is a situation where your piece X blocks the line of attack from your opponent's piece Y from getting at your piece Z. Meaning that if you were to move X, Z would be open for capture. An exchange is when you capture an opponent's piece and they immediately capture one of yours. Not saying any people were captured in this chapter--just that those two concepts apply to plenty of situations throughout. (PS If you're on the app Chess By Post, look up my A3O name).
> 
> The more I write this story, the more I see I can't not do a sequel. My internal dilemma comes from it inevitably having established Glimmadora, and I for some reason have an aversion to established relationship fanfic (maybe it seems more dramatic or tense that way?) Unless those works are incredibly well written, or use a refreshing technique or view, I usually stay away. In any case, I hope y'all are okay with a sequel :)
> 
> I've recently added the URL for my web journal to my A3O profile, in case you're interested in more writing and witticisms to fill your time.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	7. Reset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5, with no alterations to the events in seasons 1-4. I would add "Slow Burn" to the tags, but the series itself is a slow burn for Adora and Glimmer's relationship--this story just builds on that.

_We did it._

Adora took the chance to breathe: a singular moment to acknowledge their success, as she held no illusion that it would last more than the day, or even a few hours. Warm colors and loving brushstrokes made the family affection before her into a masterpiece, with the shadows, Kes, and Perfuma completing its ornate and unique frame. It spoke of hope to the simple souls, welcome to the fearful, kindness to the downtrodden. No amount of paint could extend her endurance, though. Adora could read the foreshadowing of her crash in the receding of her adrenaline, no doubt, and there was still an unfathomable amount to accomplish.

Nearby, an emotionless Kes evaluated Glimmer and Micah’s exchange. A thoroughly wiped Perfuma left his side to offer a bottle of the Mystacor medley, as it was being called, to Adora. She passed her back an appreciative, wilting look and downed half the drink right there.

“Your Majes…Majest _ies_ ,” Adora corrected herself, “We should get back to the palace.”

“Yes, yes. To see to Mermista at the very least,” Micah agreed. “I think we’ll have trouble with the reflection portal for Glimmer. She didn’t come to this room from any of the other locations.”

Perfuma and Adora sent each other a clueless look. Kes made a burbling sound with his lips.

“Of course: she didn’t enter through it, so it cannot return her anywhere. I will help in this, then,” his customarily calm words sped up in excitement.

From his belt, he withdrew a slender chrome plated rod and adjusted several sunken dials along its length. As he slid a digit down to the tip, a thin blue line of light phased into existence before him and seemed to rotate to reveal into its gate form. The Etherian faces lifted with wonder, unmoving, and their alien ally bowed slightly.

“After you.”

Glimmer and her father exited together, and then Perfuma. Adora delayed, however—first examining portal, and then its maker.

“If you can use gates to travel,” she wondered, “Does your rebellion still use ships?”

“Certainly. The universe is always changing, and our gating technology needs constant upkeep. Manual routes exceed it in many ways.”

“How much energy and resources have you used for our mission?”

He burbled again, “The expense report, as they say, will justify itself.”

Adora removed her gloves and presented an open hand to Kes. His eye sockets expanded inquisitively when he grasped it and she placed her other hand on top.

“I’ve heard in old Etherian tales that when people were grateful for something uh…important, or precious, they would give a token in return, to symbolize a future favor they owed the giver,” came her explanation, low and grating slightly. “There’s nothing I can say to tell you how great a gift you have given us today…all I have is a promise I will somehow repay you, or your rebellion, whenever you call on me.”

The Selasendarion reversed nodded, placing his remaining three hands on their pile.

“I hear your truth, warrior…and do not doubt you will honor it,” he gripped tighter, then released. “If it helps, some cultures call that ‘giving your Word.’ “

“My words?”

“Your Word. Capital double u.”

“My Word. Hmmm…I like it.”

* * *

The Council Room was a hub of mild chaos when they stepped through. For fear of moving her too much farther, Mermista had been settled into a reclined lounge chair at the council table. A pair of infirmary attendants were seeing to her care, having already swapped out Perfuma’s patch job for thicker, clean dressings. Adora overheard a weak request that ice cream would restore her health the fastest. Captain Terila was speaking with the room’s guards as successfully as one would herd cats; all of them constantly distracted by Glimmer’s appearance in a mixture of disbelief and elation. Perfuma was the only other one seated—though seemed to be failing at even that with other medics eagerly bombarding her. The general was questioning Scorpia and Frosta regarding the mission, whose details hardly ever matched up. Her attention bounced between them like children playing ball.

Micah had been monitoring the portal from his daughter’s side, who followed the trend of having an infirmary staff attachment. He asked for all to be seated while guiding Glimmer to the chair next to his: Angella’s. Her limbs started to comply, until her thoughts caught up and the open doubt on her face asked the unspoken question

His small smile colored his words with generosity. “Would you sit next to me?”

“But you’re here. I’m…I wouldn’t be Queen.”

“We can work that out later.”

As if the chair would break on principle, Glimmer eased herself into her mother’s spot. The usual council shuffled to their seats, and all but two of the healers left. Water glasses start passing around as Adora faced her own debate: sit and possibly fall asleep in the warm afternoon air, or stand and rely on her stomach growling stomach to stave off collapsing. The chair finally earned her vote. Hands clasped at his waist, the King of Bright Moon spoke in a weighty, genuine tempo.

“I am deeply glad to see you all back here again, and owe you _all_ a great debt of gratitude: for bringing Glimmer home, for your lives—and more—that you risked in its completion. And Kes, we could certainly not have done it without your assistance…for that, we are forever grateful to you, and your rebellion.

“I’m aware there is _much_ to discuss, but this has also been a hard topic for everyone lately. I understand if you’d prefer to reconvene later this evening for counsel. After rest, and hopefully refreshment.”

Scorpia wasn’t sure whether to salute, bow, or raise her hand. All three inspired her haphazard movement.

“Sir…uh, your Majesty, for the sake of keeping it all fresh, a debriefing now would be best.”

Wordlessly, they all gave their approval, and he dove in.

“We are not a warring people, along with the rest in the Etherian Rebellion. What animosity we can expect is a mystery still, but if the Horde has been any model of the Primes’ retribution, we need to prepare for retaliation soon. Especially now that he knows we have a way to infiltrate his headquarters.”

“But we took precautions,” Frosta said. “I mean, that’s why Kes gated us into that room, out of the way.”

“Which is all well and good, and we could indeed have that advantage on our side. But the core fact remains, whether or not he ascertains the method. Were you able to learn anything about him? Or any plans? Or the clo—”

Glimmer’s interruption flew out, all as one word, “He knows about the Heart of Etheria.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Bow’s alarm was at the forefront of the astonished commentary. Adora wasn’t sure if she had stayed her own judgment because she needed more detail or because her senses were fogging by the minute. As Micah forcefully cleared his throat and the others hushed, Adora discovered amethyst eyes holding hers directly. Glimmer went on.

“It was Catra that told him. He knew about the planet’s energy store, and she convinced him I was part of gaining access. Without that, he would have killed us.”

 _Saved Glimmer to save her own hide as well. Typical Catra,_ Adora masked her disappointment.

“He wants it, badly. All of his questions revolved around our magic, and what it would take to use it. H-he might know it’s linked to Eternia, too, but I’m not positive.”

“If I may,” Kes placed his top two hands on the table, and Micah nodded, “This universe has little magic as a whole. His attack and defense strategies show this. That he is interested in Etheria’s stores is a wealth of power over him, and an advantage for our resistance.”

Adora spoke next, “We may have another weapon, which we _need_ to treat with extreme caution…I think Frosta can control clones.”

“Uhhh, yeah…yeah, I think so. At least that’s what you guys told me,” the Nervous Frosta version had never sounded so young. “I don’t…remember a lot, kinda in the ‘battle zone,’ y’know? And I’m not all that injured, so…there’s that.”

General unease ran in a wave around the table.

“Soooo… _that_ might be a bad sign,” Bow’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“How was she able to control them? Was there a mechanism, some…sort of tech that she manipulated?” Micah asked.

“It’s because they’re dead,” Perfuma said, pointedly interested in her lap. “My life sense couldn’t see them…and if her deeper power, as Bow suggested, is things that aren’t alive…and these are non-natural creations, it all fits. Bow’s theories are pretty brilliant…and it’s still so…”

His sorrow and thanks coupled together like an apology, “I hear you, Perfuma…I do.”

“I think we prevented any clones getting back to Horde Prime to tell him,” Adora said.

“The best strategy when dealing with Prime is to prepare that he knows more than we’re aware of. We should assume during the next encounter, he will either have safety guards in place to deny…Frosta’s, yes?...power, or devise a trap in order to expose her,” Kes advised.

“Your Majesty…I think the practice this morning…was _so_ beneficial, and we should definitely do more, tooo enhance our powers, maybe see the traps before they spring,” Scorpia said.

Micah gave a quick aside to Glimmer, “That _is_ something we’ll have to catch you up on. Though we believe you already tapped into some of your other powers that the Heart of Etheria unlocked ”

“What other powers?”

“Was there a time you saw Catra in front of your cell?”

Her cheeks went slack, “Y-yeah, there was! At least, I think so…if it wasn’t a trick. They brought her by a couple…no, yesterday as a show of their power, like they were bragging.”

In a roughly copied tilted head pose, Kes asked, “How was it bragging?”

“They merged her with a clone. Her face, arms, half her chest, it was all covered in that plating I’ve seen on them. And her eyes…were dead, that same shades-cursed, blasted green that was _everywhere_.”

Glimmer’s sob curdled her words. Most turned their heads away. Adora went to grab her chest and the ache there, but her breastplate covered it. Instead her fingertips attempted to pluck it off, going white with effort. Wishing her childhood companion gone was one thing; torture was utterly cruel.

“That is an escalation, but would not surprise myself or our other veterans. The clones take time to grow, to upkeep, to improve. Which is why the empire is so large. If he were able to convert the conquered peoples into clones by combining them, all energy requirements would halve…that’s truly quite efficient.”

Kes’ praise seemed to push the mood off a steep cliff. He quickly addressed his listeners’ growing disgust.

“I…have overstepped my respect, and I will keep such observations to myself. Please.”

“But…I sent that vision? Are these the other powers you’re talking about?” Glimmer asked.

Bow nodded, adding tentatively, “We might have a plan to return Etheria’s stored magic back to the planet itself, and the gemstones, the Heart, and the Princesses are interwoven with that. That would take away the super weapon Horde Prime sees it as, so then…well…huh, we hadn’t thought much beyond that.”

“And now we come to my first point, interrupted yesterday with a well thrown plate to my ‘dome,’ as they say,” Kes told the table, “If the planet's no longer a super weapon, you’re like every other world in his empire. He would conquer you in the usual manner.”

“Wait…wait wait wait,” Adora rose to her feet, “Kes, you’ve said you guys can go to anywhere in our universe?”

“And beyond, certainly.”

“That’s perfect! You can get me back to Eternia, they can fix the Sword, and I can convince them to help! The Primes wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Whoa, Adora,” Bow shook his head gravely, “They were willing to _kill_ Mara. Why wouldn’t they just continue with their original plan to use the Heart to destroy their enemies?”

“A very good point. Regardless, it is impossible. Eternia does not exist.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow to Kes, “It does. Light Hope told me she pulled me through a portal from my parents on Eternia. I mean, the ship’s from there, and all the First Ones tech we’ve found.”

“You…trust this Light Hope?”

“Well, _yeah_ …I mean, she’s a thousand years or more old, but she wasn’t that corrupted, and the maps looked accurate for everything else.”

“Ah. Very old, I see. Eternia _did_ exist, I correct myself, but no longer. We staged a major uprising a couple years ago. Eternia had resisted the longest and fiercest of any of us. He destroyed their planet as an example to any that might join our cause.”

Adora, stunned, dropped painfully back to her seat.

“ _Destroyed_ a planet!? He can do that?” Perfuma leaned forward.

“Currently, I am unsure, but there’s no doubt the earlier…”

Chair legs scraped out a mournful cry of protest, and Adora fled out the doors, with an angry slam like the bar on a dungeon’s door.

* * *

_Gone? Just like that? How can a…how can you just_ kill _all life?! Every family, and home, and…_ Adora’s head rang with a hundred voices, raging and pitiless. Hands she wasn’t sure belonged to her pounded at her temples. She triggered back to when Bow had told her Glimmer was gone, the beginning of those seven days during which she had aged several years. Her nerves now fired, telling her muscles to run, fly headlong into Prime’s base with Mara’s ship. That would be enough to end him. End this nightmare. End—

“Adora?”

She hunched over from the impact of crashing back to reality. Breath punctured her body once more.

“Perf-fuma, sorry…I’ll be okay. You can go back in.”

No response, though a subtle shift of fabric told her the Plumerian was there, conflicted.

“Seriously,” Adora began to walk off, “I just needed air. I’ll go ask the kitchen to bring food for us, it’ll be a long—”

Her breath evacuated again, as Perfuma wrenched Adora into her arms from behind. Were it not for Adora’s chin brushing the tops of those graceful fingers, folded over her breastplate where her beating heart yearned as does a hurt child, their presence might have gone unnoticed. It was the tender strength clinging to her back that drowned her in an unguarded solace.

“ _Please_ …share this with us, Adora. We can’t force you, but…just talk to us…or someone, even if it’s not me. It’s going to eat you up inside.”

“I’m just—”

“She’s back with us now, and not going anywhere else.”

Gone was the quiet of a tomb that once held Adora’s world in thrall. The warrior hid her eyes, oh so carefully folding a hand on top of the empath’s. It was a shroud that now pulled back from her senses, the kind taken down when a patient rejects their consideration of death’s door.

“Thank you, Perfuma. I’ll be all right.”

“You will…and I hope we see that someday.”

How one sentence could fly through each memory in her body and mind, Adora would never know. But she admitted that there were some things that shouldn’t be questioned. That something that needed out.

“Would you help me with a project? Nothing big or dangerous. I’d just need help from you and Frosta.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

Perfuma adjusted her grip a fraction of an inch, and they stayed like that for a while.

* * *

Bow never prided himself in sneaking up on a sleeping Glimmer. She embraced her mornings with an enthusiasm second only to her first steps into Bright Moon’s rebellion. Each of the (at least) eighteen times he could recall, her own surprise had thrown her over the edge of her loft with the dexterity of the huge lumberboars from the Whispering Woods. Thankfully, only twice did Glimmer exact immediate revenge by teleporting him under the full force of the waterfall.

And once in the muddiest bank of the lake.

And another on the peak of the throne room.

And one more that was a blank due to his resultant concussion.

But to Bow, they were all worth it.

Her suspended bed of adolescence was abandoned this morning for one on the floor, placed farthest from her room’s door. She slept on, in a snowy gray sleeveless nightshirt, curled on her side and exiling herself to the mattress edge. Bruises watermarked her elbow and shoulder, and reddened splotches peeking out from her sleeve and neck holes cackled of more injuries unseen. Bow lamented the sight in full knowledge that the rescue couldn’t have gone down a moment sooner. Chancing another dunking in some form of water or slime, he hopped up and dropped down hard on the opposite side of her bed. The jostling shot Glimmer straight up with a cry, and it softened immediately to chuckles once comprehension sank in.

“Skitches and shades, Bow! Good morning to you, too.”

He winked, “I had hoped that would bring a smile. Did you sleep well?”

“Mostly,” she mostly lied. “It’s weird how much I’ve missed a mattress, and last night it was too soft.”

“How are you?” he made sure Glimmer saw his appraisal of her bruises, concerned but firm.

“Healing, I guess…I went to the infirmary after dinner. They insisted on moving this bed in here. And looked me over for anything lasting.”

“Was this all from Prime?”

“His clones. They were… _persuasions_ to correct my behavior if I mouthed off.”

Bow’s expression shrunk in a grimace on one side of his face, curling his lips in. Glimmer rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Yes, I know I do that a lot. Thanks for not making that dark joke.”

“I guess that makes this an apology invite, then. Since your dad gave leave for everyone to take some time for their own affairs, I thought we could get you introduced back with a little target practice. I set up a range in the garden courtyard, plus your dad is having breakfast brought out.”

“Wow…that sounds really…heh, my dad is here for breakfast. That’s incredible by itself,” Glimmer beamed. “I’d love to, thank you.”

“Great! I know he’s looking forward to catching up with you. Meet you out there? Unless you need anything.”

“Well, I…I need to formally apologize for being a pompous brat, to you and Adora…and for endangering everyone with the Heart of Etheria.”

“I understand,” he replied with perfect seriousness, “You may begin.”

Catching his tone took her a minute, as she had been looking down at her bedsheet. They finally locked eyes and Glimmer absorbed his barely contained laughter, which spilled over onto her mood and lifted her spirits. She jabbed his thigh with her foot.

“Good one…but really, what have the others said? Are they mad at me?”

He hesitated with an internal debate, “Theeey…all said it was like their magic was set on fire, their life draining away. Once I told everyone you and Hordak got teleported somewhere, we were all worried about your safety. I don’t think they carry that anymore.”

“What happened with Adora? And She-Ra?”

“Oh…I just know she broke the Sword. Said she had to stop the Heart from consuming the planet. We got a lead on how to repair it, possibly. But otherwise, she’s been tight lipped. She could really use this day off, too.”

Glimmer scoffed in doubt, “Think she’ll take it?”

“Most assuredly not.”

“Then let’s bring her breakfast afterward. Maybe she’ll sleep in.”

Bow smiled wistfully, in memory of confronting their friend the previous morning, “Deal…don’t you take too long. I know you like your tea piping hot.”

At his departure, and waiting a full minute to ensure her friend wasn’t eavesdropping, she relaxed back against her headboard with a long, shuddering exhale. The dull pounding in her head from the previous evening left a residue in the center of her brain. Despite her most severe injuries being sprains and bone deep aches, Glimmer had had to pull out all her diplomacy and redirection with the infirmary staff to be able to sleep in her own room. She bargained it down to as long as they kept it under wraps, she’d visit them in person this evening before bed. And she knew she’d absolutely keep that promise; the Bright Moon rumor mill didn’t need an insert about the state of their Queen’s health.

Before dressing, she found a jar of salve left on her bureau by the healers sometime the evening prior. A note in compact, neat script said it would help with bruises and pains, so she applied it liberally. Scents of almond and a mint grown in Bright Moon’s lagoons swirled about, adding another of calm to their mix. The cool gel sank in and already she started to feel relief when capping the jar. Glimmer donned a three-quarter length sleeve lilac tunic, split in the front from waist to mid-thigh and angled down to her knees. The knee-length leggings hung free and faded from light to darker gray at the bottoms. Her drawer of fingerless gloves was getting low, she noted in pulling on a new pair. It all fit looser on her now, as the return to the palace’s everyday made her notice. _But will I be the only one to see it?_

The contents of her room were in order. Books in various reading progress neatly stacked, a new bronze Moonstone circlet on her stand, her spotless datapad beside her jewelry box, statues free of dust, window seat straightened and fluffed. In brushing her hair into some semblance of “acceptable in public,” her deeper drawn features in the mirror dulled her outlook for the day. Perhaps a morning of invigorating exercise would put off the encroaching fear that told Glimmer she was a minute away from waking up. More and more, the usual motions were reasserting themselves, each a brick in her reality’s foundation. One more slow breath to herself, in the privacy of her room, before she pulled open her doors to the world beyond.

“Queen Glimmer, good morning!”

 _Aaaand immediately_ , she chuckled inwardly. _I should not be surprised by now._

Terila was straightening up from a bow, a wholesome enthusiastic sheen gracing her normally dour persona.

“Good morning, captain. How’ve you been?” Glimmer turned to walk with her toward the courtyard.

Terila covertly checked for the identity of the guards lining their path, “Just got off shift guarding our portals. My own life has been fairly normal. We’ve seen more openings for upset, but your father and the Princess Alliance offset much of it.”

“Guarding the portals…is that a regular thing?”

“’Round the clock. King Micah doesn’t want to leave it as a weak point…I could escort you, if you’d like to see them. If you’re free now, or later this morning or…well I suppose your father could—”

“Captain, relax. You can just…talk to me, like a person. I missed seeing your partner in the infirmary yesterday. Are they no longer in charge of staff?”

“Yes they are. Oran’s training medics at our camp outside Thaymor. We’re getting more healers out there than soldiers, and they needed experienced hands…thank you for asking, your Majesty. They’ll be happy to hear they’re thought of."

“Of course. How do you think that’s going?”

“It’s…good to keep us busy. Those of us used to concentrating on the Horde can get…anxious at times. Wanting to patrol or survey or do something. _Any_ thing.”

Stuttering and drifting attention told Glimmer there was another part to her dialogue.

“Is that all?” she pried.

“…honestly?” asked Terila cautiously.

Glimmer was mildly amused, “Yes, honestly. I’m not interested in comforting lies.” _Not anymore._

“I’m just glad to see a community gathering and teaching each other. General Brizeus is pushing it for her own duties as military commander…but there’s no way we’d stand up in formal battles. We would be slaughtered using tactics that don’t play to our strengths.”

“I’m with you on that. The general has been secluded in and around the palace too much. What would you do?”

“His Majesty was closer to a solution with thinking about the Whispering Woods. We’re at home there. Princess Frosta’s people should use the mountains and weather to their advantage. Same with the Salineans and the seas. No, we wouldn’t become invincible, but we’d be nights more effective than meeting the Primes on their own terms.”

“But you think splitting up our numbers is better?”

The captain pumped her mouth, as if her brain were stalling to form words, “Well…not exactly like that. Just that the usual rank and file formation would be devastating to us.”

“Well, can’t be wrong there. The Horde would have our hides…that insight is valuable, thanks.”

Terila looked on her queen with a dawn of admiration in her eyes. Her upturned smile encouraged one on Glimmer’s face as well.

“You’re very welcome.”

They parted ways at the courtyard steps, where early sun warmed the wide marble steps and preened a freshness out of the grass. Low walls that bounded the area sat like friends at the edge of a party, waving excitedly to join them. The light blue sky would see to extra heat throughout the day. A wonderful dichotomy of violet vine flowers and a heady herb that flourished in their shade skipped its way into her nose. The modest table spread with flat cakes, jams, and fruits massaged away the rough waking up process, and her father’s laugh stirred up a giddiness in her stomach. Micah stood as she neared.

“Morning, dad,” Glimmer hugged his midsection tight. “This looks delicious.”

“Thank you. I tried to remember what you like, but it got Bow’s seal of approval, so I think I’m safe,” he kissed the top of her head.

“Mmmm, you can be my third dad if you keep putting together meals like this, your Majesty. That blackberry rosemary jam is too much,” Bow said around a mouthful.

“I take it everyone is gone for the day?” Glimmer asked.

“Yes and no. Last night everyone but Frosta told me they’d come back this afternoon, and Scorpia’s nearby to help lay out tactical lessons for any interested in command.”

“Oh yeah, and Mermista is taking a bit longer. You should’ve seen her face when Sea Hawk found about her injury. The tent he rigged up on the deck of _The Dragon's Daughter Four_ is a regular mansion!” Bow explained excitedly.

“Just for the trip to Salineas?” Micah raised an eyebrow.

“Dad, have you _met_ Sea Hawk?”

“…quite right.”

“How are you adjusting, being back? How has Bright Moon reacted?”

The king sighed fondly, “It feels like I’m back to learning the ropes with everything. Brizeus and the Alliance have been a big help to compensate for what I missed at first. There was a huge celebratory crowd here after things settled down, and one of the villages told me they’re working on a tapestry to tell the story.”

“Whoa. Your story? Or…”

“Our family’s, from the time Angie and I met, to the rebellion’s start, your birth…her sacrifice…my return.”

Glimmer placed her hand on his, steady and strong, “That’s going to be beautiful…she’d love it, too.”

Micah turned it over to grasp hers warmly, then continued eating, “If you’re up for it later, I wanted to work with you on some of your new magicks. It doesn’t have to be strenuous.”

“But we are working on a timeline, though,” Gimmer looked to Bow, “If we’re gonna make any progress on returning the Heart to the planet.”

Her friend shrugged, “Very true…but y’know, you did just get out of _prison_.”

“But y’know, Etheria did just move to the top of a mass murderer’s wishlist.”

“Also true.”

Glimmer shrugged back, “So yes, I’m willing to work on my magic. What else can I do besides send thoughts?”

“There’s no way to tell, I don’t think. If it involves space manipulation, anything with that could eventually be in your realm of ability, with enough training. We never foresaw Frosta controlling clones,” Micah pointed out.

The young woman thought for a moment, hand on her chin, then chuckled.

“What, so like bringing that to my—”

The jam jar she was pointing at phased out, reappearing over the hand she used to point at it. She floundered to catch it as it tipped off her fist, but a large glob slopped out, half on her plate and half on the table. Her dad stilled, food halfway to his open mouth, and Bow had to spit take to the side.

“ _That_ was not planned!” she set the jar back down.

“I’m kinda glad it wasn’t! Stars, this could mean all sorts of things.”

Glimmer watched Bow’s theories bloom visibly in his tone of wonder, like pebbles and their rings on a pond’s surface: another restorative piece of her normal.

“Astounding. That’ll be a great starting point,” Micah reflected.

“Iiii know I said I didn’t want to do business, but I really gotta make sure this is written down. I’ll be right back!”

The table contents clinked lightly as the young man bumped the table leg, and he dashed away. His remaining companions shared some mirth as Bow nearly tripped up the steps.

“Speaking of business…what do you want to do about, well…ruling Bright Moon?”

“I understand you already when through your Rite, and I’m not about to take that away from you. What’s to say we can’t rule together? I think we’d be a great balance,” he said. “You’ve already grown into your mother’s passion and stubbornness.”

“Thanks…I think. Isn’t there a rule about the king and queen being a married couple?”

“Might be. If there isn’t, do you think there should be?” Micah leaned back in his chair, taking in all of her reaction.

“I don’t know about should be, but that’s how it’s always been done, right?”

“‘How it’s always been done’ was exactly why I didn’t want to gain rank in the dusty old Sorcerers’ Guild, like your aunt. I believe there’s much to be gained and taught from change. If you want that as a law, we can consider it, but because you see a benefit. Don’t do something because that’s how the past has worked.”

Glimmer chewed and swallowed, contemplating her answer on a faraway shrub.

“That makes sense.”

“Then, if or when you marry, they can take my place, or be a regent until they’re ready to step up, or until I release my death-grip on my throne,” he winked.

Glimmer laughed, “That’s rich…probably the farthest thought away right now.”

“That was something I thought about on Beast Island from time to time, wondering if you had found someone yet.”

“Daaaad…”

“Don’t ‘dad’ me,” Micah chided her eyeroll. “I want your happiness, dearheart, and I’ve seen mine come from loving Angie, so…it’s only fair to think that might be the same for you. And I greatly look forward to harassing and scaring whoever courts you.”

“That doesn’t give me much reason to tell you, you realize.”

“So there is someone? Is it Bow?”

“No, and no. I think one time I did have a crush on him…but now he’s like a brother. ‘Best friend’ just doesn’t cut it.”

“See? And these are the things I’ve missed for all those years…any prospects?”

Glimmer gave him a suspicious sidelong squint, “Do you think it wise to worry about a love life during all of this?”

He met her look nonplussed, “Why ever not?”

“We should be focused on planning and conserving our energy, not worried about how we look or pulling out the stops to impress someone.”

“Glimmer, anyone who’s uninterested in you based on how you look or dress or smell at a certain time of day, or _all_ day, isn’t worthy of you. And there are plenty of ways to impress and to be impressed that involve simply being who we are. In my opinion, those are the more meaningful moments.”

She stayed quiet during his speech, with a sip of tea and prepping another flatcake. She didn’t want to admit it, but her lower stomach was doing the flip-flop maneuver again.

“Look, I’m not trying to pressure you, just wanted to make sure you’re open. Not everything should be shut down because of war.”

“And this is one of them?”

Micah finished off his tea, “Life is a paradox. The things that make it all worth living take years to find, decades to understand, and then instants to be cut off. I want you to know neither war’s chaos nor the stillness of peace changes any of that—life is happening all the time.”

She searched her father’s features for long heartbeats. New wrinkles mapped his hairline. Bits of gray had started trekking across his beard. The ridges of his shoulders sloped ever so gradually. But his dark eyes were ageless, vast, and in them she could see every story he had told her on late nights under the moons of their homeland.

“Thanks, dad…I’ll remember that.”

“You’re welcome. You get to thinking about a lot of things when you live alone in an insane landscape. Most the rest of it’s trash, though.”

“I think you’re doing pretty well.”

“We’ll see about that. Now, tell me: if I were a gambling man, do I place my bet on you or Bow for this ranged course? …and how much of a handicap do _you_ need in order to make this fair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a huge fan of Sanderson, I'm enthralled by his genius in how he moves plot while simultaneously developing character. There's a 'standard' somewhere for writing that it's poor form for characters to sit in a single room talking for too long. This is why I hated the penultimate chapter of HP and the Deathly Hallows--that sort of complex mystery explanation could've been done a variety of other interesting ways. I was very hesitant to do it here, since I've already had a sit and talk scene in the council room. But a mission this big would require a debriefing in real life, multiple characters had to share their knowledge, Glimmer's state and Mermista's injury meant it wouldn't be a mobile discussion, and I needed a couple things piled up to set Adora on edge enough to want to leave. Another sit and talk council session wasn't put in because it was easy, but rather it made the most sense all around.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	8. Two Moves Ahead and One Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5, with no alterations to the events in seasons 1-4. I would add "Slow Burn" to the tags, but the series itself is a slow burn for Adora and Glimmer's relationship--this story just builds on that.

With a slick collection of sweat near their temples, Bow and Glimmer came off their target practice session refreshed; the jury was still out on who won, but it was most likely the one whose name rhymed with ‘glimmer.’ They chatted almost gleefully on their way to deliver the last of breakfast to the last of the Best Friends Squad. Rounding the bend, they discovered Emily whirring modestly and staring (as much as her magenta trapezoidal light could be assigned that action).

“Oh, hi there, Emily. I assume Entrapta’s with you…somewhere?” Bow peered around the area.

The robot rotated as if to indicate Adora’s room with a series of chirps. The door was shut. The other two exchanged a questioning look, shrugged, and knocked. They didn’t hear any response, and after half a minute, Glimmer reached for the handle, but the door sprang open violently.

“Ah!” Glimmer jumped, bringing up her hands and readying a magic blast. “Oh…hi Entrapta.”

There was the Dryl Princess, suspended off the floor by a single ponytail, “Oh, hi Glimmer! And Bow!”

Entrapta’s grin almost looked painful with how wide it was. She had released an awkwardness from where it was held at bay in Adora’s quarters. Emily tapped her legs a couple of times on the marble floor to break up the mire of motionless tension.

“Uuuh, are you coming out, Entrapta?” Bow finally asked.

“Oh, right, that’s what I was doing. Yes, I’ll be on my way. Experiments and all,” she exited and shut the door behind her.

“Was Adora in?” Glimmer stopped her.

The other young woman’s expression blanked, “To be honest, I don’t know.”

“…you were just inside her room.”

“That is correct.”

“So you didn’t see her?”

“I could say yes, but that’s with the omission that I wasn’t looking for her, so it’s possible that she’s in there and didn’t make her presence known.”

Bow massaged his forehead, “Why were you in her room if you weren’t looking for her?”

“Oh! Because she asked me to get her things, and her room seemed like the safest place to leave them.”

“What things?” Glimmer asked.

“Some mirrors and a new armor prototype. You can go in and look at them if you want, but I have to get going. To an appointment!”

“Wait, so Adora _is_ in there? She told you we could come in?”

“I said four, possibly five sentences ago that I didn’t see her in there. Why would you ask if she talked to me?”

“Why else would you give us permission to go into her room?”

Entrapta's hair scratched her chin while she considered the ceiling, “Do rooms have permissions like databases do?”

Yet another pause for shock, as Bow’s and Glimmer’s minds fumbled at following her logic.

“Weeell…what about your lab? Would you just want anyone walking in on your tests?”

“Of course! Labs are where the science happens! Who’s not excited by science?”

“All right, then yes,” Glimmer spoke slowly, “Within the parameters of someone’s bedroom, the…owner has to give permission to enter. Like answering a knock. Or an invitation.”

“Oooooh, that’s why people tap on doors. I thought they were trying to determine whether it was a solid surface and thus couldn’t walk through it. This makes more sense.”

“Okay. So Adora might be in her room, but to your knowledge, she’s not?”

“Correct. Now I must be off,” she skirted around them.

“Hold on, what—”

“Appointment!”

The scientist and Emily faded from view in a parade-like gait. Glimmer reined in her confusion as Bow deposited the tray next to Adora’s door.

“Were those words? Were we talking?” Glimmer blinked. “I’m…not really sure what just happened.”

“I am. I just found a reason to lock my door at night.”

* * *

_Determine permanence of portal energies._ Postponed. _Upgrade Scorpia’s skiff._ Done. _Return to Bright Moon._ Done. _Deliver Adora things_. Done. _Investigate clone._ In progress.

Sentient hair strands opened the door for Emily as Entrapta ticked off the to-do list on her datapad. The robot stalked in with the young genius sitting cross-legged on top, who was positively brimming with anticipation, opening the diagnostics engine. The center of the round room held a hollow column of orange-pink light projected up from a diagram of runes. On top of a table inside its borders was the clone, slack-jawed, hands tied at its waist. Lifeless.

The flashback caught her by surprise, of that time she in turn had caught Hordak by surprise with her trust. He had the same look about him as did this clone, blank and innocent instead of curved with constant suspicion. One of her dormant algorithms, the one that no other evidence agreed with, told Entrapta that he had never encountered words that didn’t ride on the back of selfish wants. Overall, it registered low on her order of operations. With no new data, there it would remain, and leave her primary processing for more immediate tasks.

“Clone analysis, day one,” she spoke into her recorder, “Clone set in a semi-controlled environment, no obvious damage from transport or exposure to Etherian atmosphere. Body is approximately two Emilies tall with medium heavy build. First encounter taking apart Primes’ tech, starting with the shoulder assuming that nothing vital is located there if I destroy anything…”

Hopping off at last to get into the thick of it, Entrapta lowered her goggles and flexed her hands. Her right ponytail molded into a shelf and in its middle a hinged tool case was secured, slanted toward her for easier reach. She selected two flat picks, muffled an elated squeak at the back of her throat, and started prying at the edges of an oblong shoulder plate. It lifted off the underlying surface a fraction, but still remained attached. One of her righthand strands wrapped around another flat pick, one of its sides reflecting a slicing edge, and it reached into the gap her hands created.

“Plating secured to…errrm, clone muscle, attempting to sever with scalpel…success. Plate interior shows composition of woven metal alloy fiber, moderately flexible and rigid. Exterior covered with protective coating which hides hexagonal weave pattern. Plate attachment composed of strands extended from muscle—this is in _creeee_ dible!”

Her singsong tone rattled all the way through her body. The clone muscle lay in parallel patterns just as she imagined Etherian muscle did, lengths of yarn side by side and attached at both ends to the skeletal structure. In similar fashion, she removed two more plates further down the arm. Entrapta pressed on the muscles to test how the plates responded when their base was altered, confirming they could squish or expand to fit the new shape.

The muscle fiber was magnetic, though, with her attention and curiosity. Clumps of a medium green plasma-like substance inside them drew her in literally until her nose was an inch away. With each prod from her finger, the substance moved away from the site of impact and stayed at its new position. Annotating all this to her recorder, she took the scalpel in hand and cautiously prepared to slice open the fibers.

“Clone muscle seems tougher to cut, scraping sounds of the blade implies the fiber walls contain some rigidity. A fluid seems to be inside them, maybe Prime’s version of blood, in a plasma form. Faint acidic smell…confirmed it does not react with the metal in the table…or my glove…or glass in a test vial. Digging deeper through clone muscle in attempts to find bone…yes, this must be…hmmm, more incisions are required…”

Just a few feet away, Emily ticked over to a padded round stool and hunkered down next to Perfuma. She set a hand on her cool metal surface, and sighed.

“Hi there, uh…Emily.”

The Plumerian always felt a bit odd sharing a personal address with robots. In the same breath, it was also odd to watch the same woman who could make the deadliest weapons on the planet also care that Emily say good night before powering off every evening. _Fearsome and adorable in one…who would’ve thought?_ Perfuma mused. It didn’t surprise her that whenever she reached out to Entrapta’s emotions, they were mostly rippling shades of tan: a neutral inquisitiveness that spoke to neither a negative nor positive origin. And that was a large portion of why she wanted to come back early, this itch of questioning and exploration. The elders in Plumeria had handled most of the official matters expertly, assuring her that this development with her magic was more important. Their forethought drew up gratitude from her emotional wellspring, and yet with it, a film of dread at what she would need to confront.

So here she sat, meditating on this dead husk which had had an empty “life,” as Entrapta dissected its limbs and now torso. The practiced fingers glided with ease over the segments and joints, a fluid dance to the rhythm of her log recordings. With a cat’s curiosity, her head bobbed and dipped to inspect from all angles. Any hesitancy was strictly borne of preserving the experiment’s conditions. Entrapta demonstrated a distinct lack of apprehension regarding the clone’s similarities to a living Etherian, the latter of which had memories and a home and friends. Entrapta had shirked a similar awareness in passing within three feet of the other Princess, or any of the four guards throughout the room.

Braced for the over-bearing excitement, Perfuma rubbed the tops of her knees and emerged from her seated sanctuary. The depthless, charred sockets for eyes shouted angrily at her. With the main protective pieces removed, she saw that the damage from Glimmer’s blast had ripped down the filaments from the eyes to its chest, like lightning arcing to the ground. A shiver tittered down through her gut at the sight.

“Hi Entrapta, how are you?”

“This is fantastic! The composition is well developed. I’m about toooo,” she stalled, detaching a sort of wire with a claw from the side of her datapad, “Find out what’s inside.”

“Don’t you need to…hmmm, part some of these more?” Perfuma vaguely gestured to the clone’s exposed fibers.

Silver bell laughter rang around her, “Not. With. This.”

A reflected blur stirred up on Entrapta’s goggles, and Perfuma had to admit, the delight in and around those pink lenses had her intrigued. She sidled over to spy on its source. On the datapad before them were blinking silhouettes of the body, flashing lines that didn’t quite form the whole. After a minute or two, the segments coalesced into an exact miniature of the body, as far as Perfuma’s untrained mind could conceive.

“Is that…is that _it_?”

“Ah, by ‘it,’ I assume you mean the clone. Yes. As long as there’s metal involved, the signals map out the ends of whatever they come in contact with. And we get this wonderful model to explore…to be honest, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen—my first trials ended up in explosions.”

Perfuma’s heart stopped with a whimper. She didn’t remember to breathe until Entrapta’s elbow nudged the sensation back into her.

“Look! The fibers tie to its joints! Ooooo, this is a great setup. My robots are stuffed dolls compared to this.”

The Plumerian exhaled, taking a long, slow blink for herself. _She’s excited about this…I need this. I can understand without trying to fix._

“What do you see, Entrapta?”

“So! This guy has most of what we do. The fibers are only partly metallic, _very_ well arranged. Prime has been looking at a lot of bipeds. They can be cut, just like our muscle, so these plates are here as protection. Maybe this makeup was the most flexible and reasonable....”

Adora’s whirlwind of sword work and Bow’s piercing arrows sparked in her vision, shoving Perfuma into the sight of the fluorescent goo painting in the hall. Reuniting with her Heart Blossom wasn’t enough to stave off the nightmares. Was it the violence? Their cold-heartedness? The ability to shield their senses from the carnage? _Whoever came up with the idea that killing more of your enemy means you win?_

“…and he gave them these boxes here in order to speak, like us.” Entrapta tapped on the figure, and the neck area became bigger. “Buuut, they don’t appear to do anything else.”

“Why would they…wait, you’re saying we have these boxes, too?” Perfuma flicked her eyes to the body nervously.

“Mhmm. When your throat vibrates when you talk? You can feel it in one place.”

Rolling her eyes with a dash of doubt, she touched her neck and hummed. Perfuma felt a rush to the edge of her fingertips.

“Whooooaa…I never thought of that.”

“Really? Even during your infinite loops of ‘ohms?’ That’s interesting.”

“And you can see all that on here?” the Plumerian bounced back to the digital image.

“I’ll have to extract this substance—oh,” the strand holding Entrapta’s recorder popped up and twitched, “I’ll have to extract the plasma for more tests. Predictions are a biofuel that responds to electrical input from the core processor. Inspiration behind using a bipedal form still uncertain. Major improvements made to bone structure compared to Etherians’, core processor encased in…in chest cavity. Suspect processor must act like a pump to control plasma movement through body fibers.”

Perfuma reeled, “This is all controlled by a pump?”

“I’ve had some theories about our insides, if you will, but I can only build robots and theorize. This clone’s processor is his heart, which is ingenious putting it in its chest. The rib framework is much more protective than the head. Instead of putting their brains up there, it’s all condensed into one unit here. They must only have ocular processing up there,” Entrapta laid her display aside and returned to the clone’s torso with picks and scalpel.

“Uh…ocular?”

“Their eyes.”

“How did Glimmer’s attack kill it, then?”

“I estimate the magic overloaded its ocu—its eye…uh, detectors—and flowed down to the processor. That’s why the damage only goes to the chest. Once I remove it…oooh, I cannot wait!”

“I mean…Glimmer kicked one in the chin. That shouldn’t have done anything to a clone, right? Without a brain.”

“Mmmm, will need to investigate clone’s head more intensely. The jaw slicing into the fibers shouldn’t do that much damage…just have it walking around confused.”

Attempting some levity, Perfuma managed a chortle, “Too much to hope we found a weak point, right? Like their neck would be a defect in his entire army?”

The web of instruments and hair dug that were buried deep into the clone slowed, the great brain ceased. The blonde almost thought she imagined it, skeptically soldiering on.

“Y-you think it _could_ be a defect?”

But Entrapta didn’t hear her. That low-priority processing algorithm moved to the top of the queue. Those words she had heard delivered with what others would call emotion, without equivalent in the scientific lexicon, replayed.

 _“I was his top general, but there was a defect in my cloning, and defects are_ worthless _to Prime. I was sent to die on the front lines…”_

“Entrapta?”

Perfuma didn’t need her magicks to understand the sullenness in the tech Princess now, as the mechanics of her brilliance and hair, inch by inch, resumed their normal functions. Only now, with one operation fewer to worry about.

* * *

“That is…mind-blowing! I can’t believe I never thought of that!”

Adora looked up from her book, which rested on her twinging thigh like a wakeful baby. Careful of the pain decompression could bring, she pushed slowly up out of her wall sit to greet Scorpia.

“Thanks. It helps pass the time, keeps me fresh.”

“Ha! Fresh, that’s a good one. When could you, Adora, ever be stale?”

Giving way to the cheesy pun, she let a small smile creep its way in. The enchanting room holding Bright Moon’s portals and invigorating waterfall soundtrack made it impossible not to. Behind the broad woman, two palace guards filtered in and threw a quick salute to Adora to take her place.

“If you insist. You sure you didn’t have anything else on today?”

“For me? Heh, no. Morning checklist is done, and I’m ready to…well, help.”

The question in her answer slogged through the Valley of the Seekers portal behind Adora, not fully meshing with her brain until Scorpia was present with her.

“Scorpia, I’m sorry it took so long for this to come around…but we’d be quite disabled without you.”

“I mean, thank you. I know I’ve been helpful. I just feel terrible for my years serving in the Horde…y’know? All that time, destroying this place?”

Stepping over to the hidden exit, Adora heard the hesitancy before she saw it, as her companion stared at the only focal point in the cave. The reflection portal’s light accented the sharp cheek ridges and angular strength of Scorpia’s face. At the same time, it highlighted the contours of her exoskeleton, which seemed to be one of the few things propping her up at the moment.

“Hey, captain.”

Dark irises zipped over to Adora’s and clung to them.

“Do you need a debriefing from your tour with the Horde?”

“No.”

“Do you want to re-enlist with them?”

“No!” her forehead creased with surprise.

“Ok…then don’t dwell on it. Just use those thoughts to get back at them.”

Scorpia waited a beat, then nodded, “Sure thing…captain.”

There was a bulge in their silence, laced with the closeness of their sealed cavern, and then they shared a coinspirational laugh. Adora waved her over.

“Want to see something cool? Say my name.”

Scorpia’s ever-ready confusion was back on, “You mean…Adora?”

They both heard a faint **_click_** , and the blonde leaned into her foot braced against a wide flat rock. Next came a grating noise, rigid on rigid, as the rock face swung under the wall. What lay beneath was an opening to a set of stone steps down to corridor, lit only by the swirling blue ambience of yet another portal. Scorpia’s mouth was in the perfect O shape.

“We figure Mara used my name as the key because anyone else who could’ve followed her here wouldn’t have known it,” Adora adjusted her small rucksack and started down. “This portal as far as we can tell leads to a random location of its choosing, probably a tactic to further shake off her pursuers.”

“Gosh…she really _was_ worried about the First Ones finding out.”

Adora bobbed her head with their gait in absent agreement. _And here I wanted to ask for their help. I guess Bow was right about how dumb I can be…sometimes, at least._

“This way leads out. It goes straight, and we’ll eventually see the daylight. You can touch the wall if you want to keep an idea for direction,” she gestured into the dark. “So…how often do you do static training that you need to squeeze reading in with it, too?”

“Oh, ah…I don’t exactly…reading is hard for me. Pincers aren’t exactly for fine motor tasks.”

“I didn’t even think. Shades, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Kind of the norm for my training growing up. I was equipped with a heavy duty datapad.”

“Then, what about that drawer we brought back from your home? Were you able to read anything from there?”

Clipped footsteps took on the conversation, with nothing of note to add. Adora let hers fall quieter in case she had missed an answer.

“No…not much. I’d actually…like some help, if you have some free time.”

The former soldier behind her attempted to ask with as much dignity as she could muster, but couldn’t keep out a lilt of shame from the depths of it all.

“Not to worry, I’d be happy to. You can trade me for some grappling matches.”

“Sh-sure! I am _definitely_ up for that.”

Helping Scorpia squeeze through, they broke out of the tunnel behind a screen of boulders. They were ten feet up on one wall of the gorge, all the way at the southwestern end and away from habitation. Pulling their scarves up to shade their faces was an instant relief from the high afternoon sun while the heat constricted around them. Adora found the best word for it was a clean heat, as opposed to the stifling, overbearing jungles in Bright Moon’s southern reaches. The cube-like buildings of clay and stone, and haphazard trader stalls grew up as they walked, clumped together in watching for the dice’s final fall in a game of chance. Raucous but happy laughter and shouts from merchants bounded out to them. She checked her companion to see childish wonder written across her features. The rare joy of discovery and fieldtrip away from the normal was a treasure on Scorpia.

A blast of wind brought with it their first curtain of dust, and the pair wrapped the excess of their scarves over their mouths. On the backside was the savory aroma of spiced meat over an open flame, which extracted a growl from Adora’s stomach. Hopefully they’d take the scenic route to this First Ones’ site and she’d be able to trade for some. In ducking through low ceilinged alleyways and skirting around cramped streets, her muscles were grateful she had been paying more attention to their recovery. This environment a couple days ago would’ve left her exhausted—not that she’d ever show it. The dappled light through awnings and structural poles was enough camouflage for the fatigue she was already feeling.

The two of them rounded a corner to the sight of the bulky, but toned Huntara leaning back in a chair, eyes closed and feet up on a table. This headquarters was where she carried out most of her business, though it was empty of inhabitants currently. The canvas top provided the shade and rickety wooden chairs the resting spots, with crates and scattered split-rail fencing as low walls. Despite the bustle of sounds around them, the veteran tracker didn’t seem to miss a beat.

“Of course you’d be early, Blondie,” she called out over the din, “And I’m glad you’ve brought a friend to sample our fine establishment.”

“I am when I can. Scorpia, this is Huntara, head of the Valley of the Lost. Huntara, my friend Princess Scorpia of the Black Garnet.”

Huntara stood to face the newcomer, giving her a critical once over, and held up a hand out in front of her chest.

“Another Princess, huh? Guess you lot got ‘em coming out of the woodwork over there.”

With an appreciative beaming smile, Scorpia met the offered grasp with her pincer, “That’s what they call me, at least. I really don’t feel like one.”

“Well, actually,” Adora tapped her chin, “We don’t have to call you Princess. How ‘bout…Captain? Or Commander?”

“Oooo no no no, not commander. That’s uh…that’s not me. I can do Captain.”

“Captain it is. Scorpia here’s also a former…well, a sister of battle, let’s say.”

“Ahhh, that explains it.” Realization lit up the purplish skin of their host, and she thumbed her chest. “Last member of the Scouts 15th Infantry.”

“Cripes, that’s you?! I always hoped I’d get to meet one of you someday. You guys were famous with the grumblers in the Horde ranks.”

“Good to know our reputation precedes us. If you’re both ready, we should head out.”

“I have those batteries Bow promised for your tracker pad, and some raw silk for trading.”

“Perfect. We’ll leave those at my place on the way.”

Sure enough, they soon wove through a street market where Scorpia and Adora almost died from sumptuous smell inhalation. The stream of browsers (mingled with smugglers and thieves, Adora warily presumed) made way for their group. For one of the few times in her life, it was the woman both behind and ahead and _not_ her that made sure their path was cut. The blonde bartered a quart of chilled, honey-lemon water for four meat sticks. The grateful nod she exchanged with the four-armed lizardfolk cook let her know neither trade would last long in their possession. In their brief stop, a couple of children stood mesmerized by Scorpia’s tail; she nervously waved them off while keeping the stinger high. They tore their food apart while listening to Huntara’s latest news.

She rambled with that simple, outlander efficiency over the lower violent crime rates, the struggles with new trade routes, and minor gossip on the local gangs. With lingering memories and prejudice against the Crimson Wastes, it lifted Adora’s mood to witness the change that was already in motion. There was industry in the cactus presses and pottery urns they passed, and community in the slightly friendlier hails from neighbors. Echoes off the canyon walls brought to her ears drumming and bells, and applause from a performance audience, she assumed. Huntara was just the stubborn resilience this place needed.

Their guide emerged from her abode with a bo staff in hand, khaki canvas backpack over her shoulder, and machete strapped to its side. She jerked her head toward the north and started off.

“When we come back through afterward, remind me I have a case of drawings for you. One of the top-side dwellers gave me some intricate sketches of those sun lily vines that Perfuma brought over, and it gave me an idea for Entrapta to scheme on.”

“They’ll both be glad to hear of that. What about?”

“It’s a bit of a stretch, and I probably only have half a brain by now, but I wondered about the sun. Your science girl might know of a way to make a type of artificial plant. They’d capture the sun, but instead of using it for growth, what if they could store it in batteries? Or generators?”

“That’s…an amazing idea,” Adora was taken aback.

“I hoped so. We got plenty of it here. Might as well try to make it work for us. We’d be willing to ship out any ceramics or clay that could help.”

“It could be done. I think King Micah mentioned a mine that just found a new gold vein for some of her material. We could divert your goods up there—a tri-trade, effectively.”

“I’ll write that in, too.”

“How’s the search for a sheriff going?” Adora readjusted her head scarf as she noticed the wind die down.

“Pretty scarce. You’ve been around here—it’s tough going, convincing folk that they’d just keep order, not crack down on every nitty bitty thing. Cheats can still be honest cheats. Just makes it a little more complicated, is all.”

“Ah, I completely forgot when we were here yesterday. Have you had any more incoming Horde?”

“Wildfires, no! And a good thing, too. Some of us are itching to let out a little rage. I’d never be able to keep everyone in line. I take it Glimmer’s back, safe and sound?”

The warrior coolly smirked to herself, pride adding a richness to her tone, “She is. Thankfully without much injury. Mermista took quite a hit, though. She’s back in Salineas to recuperate for a while.”

“Hmm, I bet she’s gonna go crazy sitting still.”

“Actually, she seems to love it…though it does make it easier for Sea Hawk to corner her.”

“You say her…magic realm, or whatever, is the sea? The thing that’s always moving? The thing that can’t be told what to do?”

Adora murmured, “Well when you put it like that…”

“And I _do_ put it like that, Blondie,” Huntara reprimanded, “ ‘Cause Bow may be saving all our butts with those harebrained ideas of his, but that doesn’t mean the work is done. If your magicks are gonna mean anything, they have to mean _something_ …to Mermista, to you two, to everyone who has ‘em.”

“Gosh, that’s smart…is there anything you don’t do?” Scorpia wondered aloud.

Huntara barked a laugh, “The dishes.”

The quiet judgment of the desert interrupted, and Adora’s hands itched self-consciously. She gripped onto her pack’s straps and cast her eyes to the floor instead what was ahead. Their lead woman noticed, and let out a string of guttural foreign words under her breath.

“Nevermind that now. You’ll need your wits on you.”

The trio had been meandering between shadows and shafts of sunlight on the canyon floor for about a half mile. Huntara veered right and up a narrow trail into the rock face, forcing them into a single file. They ducked under low bridges and climbed over chest-high boulders. Adora felt the air getting closer, breathing more labored, as they reached what seemed a “staircase” whose steps were each over their heads. Through a combination of powerful jumps and ab work to pull each other up, they at last reached the top, where a short tunnel opened wide into a flat, oblong cavern. The slit in the broken ceiling lit it up like an arena. Deceivingly so—Adora saw that the split was in rock at least sixty feet deep. The blinding affect of the filtered sun left the opposite end shrouded in mystery. That was where Huntara brought them, nonetheless.

“An old foxwoman told me about this yesterday. Her mother and father had played in here as kids, but after the crack opened up, she said they started hearing voices, yowling, calling for help. They thought the First Ones spirits’ had come back to haunt it. Haven’t talked about it since.”

The wide theater for Huntara’s explanation set it in a sacred pitch, Adora and Scorpia the awed listeners. The scuff of their boots, the whisks of their clothing were so miniscule and ineffective. An archway carved with First Ones’ characters grew out of obscurity, reaching for Adora. The stone floor underneath it led off into the pitch black.

“Can you read that?” Scorpia asked.

“ _The lost find guidance, the broken are healed, the questions are answers_ ,” Adora said, inching forward.

Huntara scoffed, “Sounds like First Ones, all right. Ever more cryptic. You want us in there with you?”

“No,” she turned, looking up into the weathered face trying to disguise its uncertainty, “If this was meant for First Ones, I’m not sure how it’ll handle Etherians. I’d rather not endanger you two any more than needed.”

A pointed, white eyebrow slowly rose to an intimidating peak, “And what do you think we do in the Crimson Wastes? Sit around and make tea cozies?”

“Oh no, you just lick sand and let ‘soft’ blonde girls beat you in footraces,” she held out her hand, barely containing her mirth.

“I won that one.”

“And I’ll be ready for a rematch soon. Now take my hand so I can be out of your hair for a while.”

Huntara did, feral grin spreading under her bottom fangs, “You’re on, Blondie.”

After another kindred grasp with Scorpia, Adora dug out the hilt of the Sword of Protection from her pack. It looked so dull and inert in the shade, though maneuvering it into the low light revealed a patchy coat of lint from its cloth wrapping. Hoisting her rucksack back up, she turned on the glow bar nestled on one of the front straps, and faced the path ahead. The faint silhouettes of her companions retreated from the ground before her as the audibly planned to pass the time with some sparring. She edged her metal sword an inch out of its backsheath to confirm it wasn’t stuck. She was prepared as she thought she could be.

And as Adora started forward, her dim light source highlighted yet another phrase etched into the pathway that near stole her breath away. Worn with time, there lay the true end to the incantation on the archway.

_The dead are living._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in both chess and stories, not every phase will be packed with excitement and action. This section didn't work out as I intended word-count-wise, meaning the next part should be more interesting. Thanks for powering through.
> 
> In other news, as a (nonprofessional) singer and songwriter, I had an inspiration to write a song about the show, mainly poking fun at the drama, the stuff that wouldn't work in reality, the cliches, etc. For instance, there'll be a line included that any fights can never be "to the last man," because that would mean there's no one left to protect Bow's abs :D When I get the lyrics and recording completed, I'll be sure to share it somehow on A3O.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	9. Edge Knight Moves to Center

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5, with no alterations to the events in seasons 1-4. I would add "Slow Burn" to the tags, but the series itself is a slow burn for Adora and Glimmer's relationship--this story just builds on that.

To put it lightly, Adora was stuck.

She had made it through the endless, suspiciously plain corridor with flawlessly hewn walls and no discernible ceiling, only to be blocked by simple physics. She had walked for what seemed ages, and often backtracked to see if she had missed something. No divots, no carvings, no rodent bones that showed any passings in the last century. _At least their dying here would’ve told me there was something of interest._ Adora was sure Scorpia and Huntara would pop up at any moment with a mocking, impatient criticism. She didn’t think she’d miss the sun this much, not knowing how to keep track of time.

She stood at a precipice, an edge that dropped off to who knew how deep of a pit. The other side was at least 25 feet away—nothing she could make in her prime and with a good wind behind her. The glow rod hadn’t uncovered any new hints in the last two or twenty-two reviews of her surroundings. The stone beneath her was sheer, without any handholds for a safe descent. Was that a floor down there? Or a trick of the low light? She picked out a coin from her jacket pocket and tossed it into the abyss. The impact didn’t sound for a long, long time.

She crossed her arms and renewed the tunnel’s inscription in her mind. _The lost find guidance, the broken are healed, the questions are answers, the dead are living._ She hoped this wasn’t a test against death. Unstrapping and holding the glow rod aloft, she peered upward into the gloom: no ledge or cross bar or mystical floating hook to fasten a rope to.

“How would the First Ones get across this? Did they just…I don’t know, float?” Adora grumbled.

She stood toe to toe with the ledge in a huff, and contemplated in the eerie silence. A depressing possibility had been nagging at her from the beginning: all First Ones had some sort of She-Ra power and wouldn’t have had any trouble jumping this span. _But then why come here to heal? Were they that strong in a weakened state?_ Growling at the back of her throat, she leaned out over the edge once more, and pressed outward against the walls to extend farther without falling. Still no bottom. Still no way across.

 _How could I…Horde_ take _me!_

Adora rocked back to solid footing and facepalmed—because eyerolling was too tame, and slapping herself too extreme. Turning around, she climbed up the walls using the same movements as she just had, pushing outward with both feet and hands. She tested while suspending herself off the floor, swinging first her boots, pressing out to get a stable base, then rotating them slightly as she reached forward with her hands. The blonde hopped down after about ten feet and felt invigorated—she could do this.

Fatally shot nerves, plus maintaining that will over a 25-foot long deathfall was more of a challenge than expected. Her hands were dry and shaking at the end when she touched down, so she dug into her rations for some cheese and traveler’s bread. Looking back over the gap and its currently obvious solution was a point of pride.

“I wonder,” she swallowed her mouthful, “If you ever came here, Mara. Did you figure it out before me? …did you even _need_ to come here?”

 _Would you still think I’m more powerful than you? Would you still believe in me…even now?_ After another bite of food, chewing it into oblivion, she offered up a defeated laugh to the darkness. _Funny that…what I do and don’t want to say out loud._

Adora next came to a wall at least three times her height; mercifully, this one had texture enough for climbing. The tops of the holds appeared flat, and the straight vertical of the wall itself further told her the climb could prove dangerous if she weren’t careful. She rolled her shoulders and neck, and started her ascent. Pulling up to her third stone, her hand slipped and Adora fell to the floor—hard. A pain shot up her tailbone when she landed. She teetered back and forth trying to massage it out.

“Ooooh wow…shoot, that hurts,” she rose slowly back to standing. “First mistake, I guess.”

She returned to her previous progress, and made sure to test the handhold first. Pulled down, pushed up, tugged outward—it seemed sturdy as any of the others. Adora gripped it like she would a sword hilt, hauled herself up, but again, slipped off halfway to the next hold. This time she caught herself, though barely—the momentum swung her out from the wall. Her fingertips, despite their callouses, whined while scraping against the rock’s surface. _Never not bringing gloves again._ Trying another tack, she grabbed her left handhold with both and reached for a higher foothold. She watched as her boot flexed, tiny shadows growing up from the wear creases, and gained the next stable base.

Then it fell _through_ the foothold, as if it weren’t even there.

Adora’s hands screamed, clutching her and her pack on one last hope. Her body slammed into the wall and crushed the breath out of her. After the sharp stinging dulled to throbbing and she slowed back to a normal heartbeat, the blonde got her footing again and leaned cautiously over to inspect the faulty foothold. A weird shadow fell across it in the low light of the glow rod. _Some sort of string?_

The blonde backed down to the last set she remembered being sturdy, and crouched to get a closer view. She brushed off dust and chips, uncovering part of a First Ones' rune. It wrapped around the stone so that the last characters were on the side. Adora pieced them together in her mind’s eye, then laughed in disbelief at the whole picture.

It literally read ‘ _Fake_.’

She rubbed clear her current handhold and found _Strong_ inscribed in its surface. As she began climbing again, the trapped stones all contained some sort of negative variant: _Weak, Illusion, False, Broken._ And likewise a confirmation like _Good_ or _Solid_ on the ones she was supposed to use. Halfway up, in a moment to address following the path of her ancestors, the concept finally hit home that these tiny rocks were at least a thousand years old. Adora went back to testing the sturdy holds, too, after that.

With a couple frightening slips due to sand, the young, yet exhausted woman hauled herself up over the top ledge and flopped unceremoniously on her stomach. Her lungs strained for air, feebly expanding under the weight of a tired Adora and her gear. She choked a bit on the inhale and rolled onto her side like a suffocating fish. Another ten feet off was an enormous circle cut into the stone face, potentially a door.

“How…did I ever,” she shakily got to her hands and knees, “Think that I…was in shape?”

Shuffling onward, Adora found a waist-high block of stone off to the side that hosted a grid of tiles with more words written in the First Ones’ characters: _Prowess, Humility, Integrity, Power, Dedication, Love, Strength, Instinct._ The two words she didn’t recognize were _Pilivice_ and _Rarmelion_ (though she almost failed at comprehending the first three, too) _._ On the closer half of its surface were square tile-sized cutouts. She took a deep pull of Mystacor Medley and placed the bottle on the slab’s corner. She braced her trembling hands on the edges.

“Ooookay, a word puzzle. Of all the things that’d actually stop me…all right, do I pick what the First Ones like? I bet,” Adora crossed her arms and tapped her nose, reviewing them all again, “Power’s definitely in. And prowess. Probably dedication…and these two ‘cause why make them words if they weren’t important to you?”

Upon moving her choices into the empty insets, there was a pause, and then a muffled grating sound to her right by the circular cut. Adora dashed excitedly over to find what had happened. The circle, or thick stone disk as she now saw, had rotated out ever so slightly to expose part of its edge. She pushed on the opposite side, starting gently and increasing to all her strength. It wouldn’t rotate any further. Adora returned to the tiles; as soon as she removed _Rarmelion_ from its seat, the disk sunk back into the wall with the same noise. She placed it to the side, out of the pattern.

“Well…the First Ones came clear across the universe to explore here, which takes dedication. They wanted to destroy their enemies, so power should stay. Prowess…eh, I guess not so much. Strength, if She-Ra is anything to them. Now let’s see...”

She dropped _Rarmelion_ back into place and waited. The disk rotated again, this time revealing all of its thickness, to where Adora could squeeze her fingers between it and the wall.

“Haaaa!” Adora ran back. “Okay! You can do this, Adora. Maybe…maybe I need more from She-Ra. That’s really my only link with the First Ones.”

She closed her eyes, but sinking into that feeling of ability beyond herself was slow in coming. Something inside blocked it, that part of yourself that protects you from a conflict you can’t see yet. Adora heard Light Hope’s voice again, a searing reminder to let go. _It wouldn’t be Love._ When she fought as She-Ra, it was all fluid, without hardly any doubt. _Instinct! But what to replace…Strength definitely made it open wider… what about Power?_ Adora pried up its tile, swapped it out, and was rewarded with a gap she could almost fit her head through.

 _Strength, Dedication, Instinct…so it’s one of these two...or both?_ Gray-blue eyes debated between the unknown words, willing the answer to speak from the ancient past. She traded both of them for Humility and Integrity—same width. _That means just one was wrong!_

“Mara was close with Razz, right? The big, tough warrior hanging out with crazy, time traveling witch? That’s gotta be Humility.”

Adora took out Integrity and inserted Rarmelion. This time there was no gap, just the full edge of the stone door.

“That means they’re...both wrong,” she crinkled up her brow in confusion. “Strength…Dedication…Instinct…Integrity…Pilivice—”

The disk made a full quarter turn to open for Adora with a groan of protest, like the difference between pebbles thrown by a child and a deafening firsthand avalanche. She waited on the balls of her feet, ready to spring away from a trap. None came. She retrieved her bottle and stepped through.

Now _who’s the dumbest friend?_ she smirked.

The tunnel it led to was circular as well, opening quickly into a cavern roughly dome shaped, tall with an oblong, even floor. The natural ceiling was barely visible in the halo of the glow rod, and every inch from top to bottom was covered in First Ones’ writings. In the center of the floor was a perfect rectangular block of what she suspected by its texture was granite. The floor was smooth and featureless. Adora slid her pack off and removed the rest of the Sword’s shards. In her damaged, raw hands, the pieces felt like cold shale recently chipped from a creek bed. The clacking from their placement floated away into the cave’s heights, without as much as an echo to remember it. As she drew out the hilt, lamenting the cracked jewel, a soft but very present scraping noise slithered out of the shadows before her.

“How did you get in here, _Etherian?_ ”

The domineering voice flayed goosebumps out of her skin, the last word having oozed out in disgust. She kept her shiver to the surface and focused her poise on a readied fighting stance. _This is the point where Glimmer would say “The front door, idiot!” and Bow would add, “Sir!” while squeaking._

“It wasn’t very easy, I’ll say. I passed all the tests…and I’m from Eternia, not Etheria.”

A pair of blue-purple lights winked into existence, defined in pointed ovals like eyes. They flashed a bright violet hue for an instant.

“They are all gone _,_ deceiver. They’ve left me in this wretched place with vermin and whiny children.”

“They haven’t been around for a long while, but I got pulled through a portal twenty years ago. I-I was chosen to be the She-Ra.”

There was a hissing intake of breath, into an enormous mouth, “This cannot be!”

“It is. I have the Sword of Protection here…or what’s left of it. That’s why I came, to heal—”

A monstrous roar shook the cavern, and the form leapt out from the darkness. She ducked behind the block and under its path of motion. The scaly body just kept going, and going, until its tail plastered Adora in the back of the head. Dazed, she tried rolling around away from where her ears told her it lay in wait.

“ _LIAR!_ ” it screamed. “To break the Sword of Protection?! Your race will pay, and your home as well!”

“We almost _did_ pay, that’s why I broke it! The Heart of Etheria would’ve—”

Adora’s eyes fixed on a tiny flame emerging from across the room, and she crouched just in time, a stream of volcano-level heat raging just above her back. She resumed shouting as it died away.

“I did it to save Etheria! The planet would’ve been destroyed. You would’ve died, too!”

The crash of anger drove her to her knees, covering her ears.

“ _THEN I SHOULD HAVE DIED!”_

Adora’s heart was going to jump out of her chest. The cave’s ceiling shuddered again, bits of it falling on her back. She grunted in aggravation.

“Help me heal my sword, and I’ll give you that!”

“ _More_ lies!” it growled, pounding the floor. “This belongs to the She-Ra! And your hands are too filthy to merely write of it!”

 _Strength,_ her eyes shot open in a moment of clarity: crossing the chasm. _Dedication for the wall. Instinct for First Ones' traits. Integrity and…Pilivice._

“What does pilivice mean?”

There was silence.

“….what?” came its throaty reply.

“What does pilivice mean? The fifth word at the door.”

“You are not _worthy_ enough to understand.”

Her elation was extinguished. Her brow was set in a flat, diamond-hard line. Her muscles were clear of ache and tightness. With a grip on the Sword that could be broken by neither man nor death, Adora rose into the face of a nightmare. A reptilian snout as long as she was tall hovered over the altar cradling the shards, and a menacing, deathly purr crawled up out of its throat.

“I am the She-Ra,” she answered, “And I’ve come to fulfill my oath.”

Adora heard the beast’s talons and hatred split the air. Still she stood fast, in a perfect instance of precise intuition. Time crawled. An overlay came before her: images of all the Etherians with which she shared blood and sweat over the span of the Rebellion. She called for every last bit of will she didn't know she had. The Sword’s fragments rattled under the warrior’s cry.

“For the honor... _of GraySKUUULL!”_

Blinding white engulfed her. A burning pain ignited her forearms. Adora heard ragged screams, and distantly she thought they might have been hers.

Then, with a single word on her lips, her whole world went dark.

* * *

Her head rolled in dizziness when she came to. Up was down. Backwards was forwards. And who knew what left and right were anymore? Adora blinked about a hundred times, and a few minutes later, she could see blurry images. She knew her hands were on the end of her arms due to tingling, and a long blob of lighter color stood out above her against the black. A wheeze escaped her throat, raspy by now, and raw. A much gentler version of the beast’s voice addressed her, pinging around in her brain.

"Well, you have some explaining to do.”

“Uuuhhhh...I will if I my food doesn't beat me to it.”

“Who are you? And how did you get the Sword of Protection?”

“Adora...of Bright Moon, and before that Eternia. A c-corrupt program pulled me...through a portal— ** _hrrrk!_** ”

Her gag reflex was, in fact, quick to the punch. Adora tasted sour dribble of bread sludge and Mystacor Medley. Whatever was wrapped around her feet shook while it chuckled.

“And the Sword?”

“I told you...I am She-Ra.”

“Mara died a thousand years ago, unless you are older than you appear.”

“Can you please…put me down? It’ll be easier…to talk.”

Something swiftly dunked her head in a fog, though eventually the fog turned into the cold stone floor. Adora flipped her captor a thumbs up.

“Grand. Wha…what did you do to me?” _Get up._

“You did this to yourself, deceiver. How did you find this place?”

“Bedtime stories…and an old lady.” _Get. Up._

Feeling was gradually fading back in, but a buzzing sensation scratched all over her skin—like a stun baton’s aftershock, only an army of them tap dancing.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Got past your…trick wall…and the word door. Now…can you repair the Sword…or not?” _Get up!_

A significant pause.

“I cannot.”

Hands finally under her, Adora broke at depth, again. She sat back on her feet, kneeling. The longer blob from before moved sideways in front of her and out of sight, to the striking note of ancient metal on stone.

“You will,” the beast said.

The Sword floated before her—broken, but the segment attached to the hilt had grown a couple inches. Adora, at the last, could see the stone in the crosstree: whole. Her words rasped for an entirely different reason.

“How?”

“Did you ever find it peculiar that a weapon’s name includes a title meant for its opposition?”

She took the Sword from its tail, “Smaller words.”

“Do you know why it’s called the Sword of _Protection_?”

“I never wondered. That’s…just what I was told.”

“When the first She-Ra was created, the Eternians meant her to represent the core values they idolized in case they ever strayed—which is why there has always been a She-Ra. So too, she was to be a shield, and they forged her blade with this intent: to only be drawn that it may quickly be resheathed. That you have used it in such a fashion, for what _seems_ a noble cause…it has now aligned with your ability to heal.”

“It _is_ a no…ble…”

His sneering doubt clawed at her, but in physically standing up in defense of herself, Adora came face to face with foot-long fangs, poking out from an iridescent purple snout trained in her direction. More specifically, right at her chest. Hot breath swam over her from the gaping nostrils.

“You’re…a dragon.”

Reptilian pupils narrowed, “I see why you wanted smaller words.”

She stood aghast while it turned its head away with disinterest. Its enormity moved with an unusual agility, the same of the monstrous quelwolves noiselessly tracking through the forest. Its worm-like body settled down on the edge of her glow rod’s aura.

“What do I call you?” Adora asked, with genuine interest.

“Dervusali.”

“All right, Dervusali…how much do you know about Mara? How old _are_ you?”

“Is that why you’re really here? For tea talk?”

“Well, no. Then…how do I keep repairing it? Do I need to be here?”

“You destroyed an incredibly powerful artifact, and it will require incredible energy, will, and magic to restore. Being here, in this cavern… _may_ help,” Dervusali blinked.

“How do you know all this?”

The dragon stared back without a word.

“Is this all the help you’ll give me?”

“You have all the knowledge you need.”

“But pilivice and rarmelion. What do those mean?”

“You don’t need them.”

“You attacked _me_ , assuming—wrongly, I might add—I was an enemy. You could at least tell me why I needed them to get in this room.”

“You have my interest, not my trust,” came its tense snarl. “Heal the Sword, or leave.”

* * *

Huntara loved sweating. It had hurt her as a tracker, having to be more self-aware of scents and traces left. Life on the Crimson Wastes had changed that. She had grown to revel in a hard day’s work with the strain on her body to show for her efforts, which right now was sparring. The kid was proving a challenge. Blocking her punches was out of the question after the first bloodied knuckle from Scorpia’s crustacean ridges. It just meant she was learning to deflect by a strike to the side.

“You probably don’t have much weapons training, do you?” Huntara ducked a swipe for her shoulders.

“Nope. Close quarters was my jam,” she flipped her hair back. “Oh! Jam means something you really like.”

“Thanks for the lesson. Already knew that.”

Huntara grumbled and faked a kick for her solar plexus. When Scorpia drew in her midsection and readied to catch her boot, she leaned into a hard push to her forehead.

Her partner stumbled back, “Ah! Good one!”

“I try. C’mon Red, keep up. Try to remember what I’ve—”

Scorpia suddenly dashed in, pincers flying. The other woman deftly outmaneuvered her every hook, jab, and cross. She could sense a frustration growing as the blows came faster. Her neck muscles started to seize, so she resorted to ducking and weaving with squats and her torso. After a solid minute of flurrying, Huntara finally feinted into an opening to deliver an uppercut as the final say. She twisted, chambering, and as she began lifting her center of gravity, her feet lost contact with the stone floor. She slammed back onto the ground where an audible **_crunch_** met her skull.

“Ooooh! I am _so_ sorry! I thought you’d see that coming.”

“Nope, nope, quite all right,” the veteran took the offered pincer and stood. “That’s what I was hoping for. Could’ve either turned into wearing me down so I misstep, or using your tail like you did. Well-played distraction.”

“I really appreciate these bouts. I haven’t had many people to train with, lately.”

“Why’d you end up leaving the Horde, anyway?”

“They sent Entrapta to Beast Island, and I knew the Rebellion would help me, so I took a chance. The other soldiers were too scared of defying Hordak.”

“That’s great, kid,” Huntara clapped her shoulder, “A high and worthy reason.”

“Psssha! It was nothing like your squad getting stuffed and thrown in the Crimson Wastes’ oven! That’s rotten, through and through.”

“Hey—just because I say ‘unit mates’ and you say ‘friends,’ doesn’t make your sacrifice any easier. See that?”

Scorpia nodded.

“Now, this one you’ll have to guard against, won’t be able to pull it off for reasons apparent. All it takes is them cupping their hands like this…and slapping them over your ears at the same time. Looks pretty harmless, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’ll screw up yer hearing for a bit, leave you dazed, so watch out for it.”

“Did you hear that?” Scorpia turned her head about, searching.

“Oh, har har, Red. I haven’t even done it yet.”

“No, I mean I really hear someone. Listen.”

The crack in the earth above whistled, like wind through a net, but Huntara cancelled that out and caught far-off shouts for help.

“You’re right. Sounds like they’re moving around top-side.”

They ran to the cavern’s entrance, the landing where the winding stairs came up. They quieted their breathing. The stiff breeze brought the cries down to them.

“…ra!...where…ou Adora?!”

“Awww geeze, that’s— _Swift Wind!_ ” Scorpia yelled skyward.

“Friend of yours, I take it.”

“He’s a flying horse, bonded with She-Ra.”

“Horses can talk?”

“Right? I tell ya, everyday I learn something new with them. Got anything to throw?”

“Maybe in my pack—”

“ _Ah!_ I tell ya, I am sooo…”

One eye shut, tongue tip out to test the wind direction, Scorpia knelt beside a very confused Huntara and aimed her pincer at the gap. A red bolt of electricity rocketed off into the blue and exploded above the opposite side. Huntara whistled low.

“Never mind about your ranged game. Horde Prime’s lucky there aren’t four other Princesses like you.”

The growing wail of a tea kettle named Swift Wind swung into view. His sharp bank took him straight on a collision course with the burly pair, who simply stepped back at the last second to create room. He kited his wings, launching a blast of air at each woman as he landed.

“Scorpia! Adora needs me!” he scanned over the area (including under his hooves) in panic.

“Easy now. She went that way…but how did you know? We haven’t heard a thing in—”

Swift Wind bolted between them to where Huntara pointed, “Thank you, nameless lady!”

Huntara gave instantaneous chase, “Oh _hooooo_ no. You do _not_ get to call me lady, horse!”

“ _Horse?!_ ”

Swift Wind skidded to a halt in their training arena (which now dawned on Scorpia as a tinier canyon within the canyon) and turned a scolding glare on Huntara.

“I’ll have you know I’m the noble steed of—”

“Yeah, yeah, well how do you think your She-Ra got up he—”

“She could’ve gotten _quicker_ if I was—”

“Hey! Both of you!” the Princess separated them at pincers’ length. “Cool it!...say you’re sorry.”

“But I—”

“No way! She—”

Static-like crimson light ran over her outspread arms. Their protests stopped.

“Sorry,” they mumbled in unison.

“Huntara, Swift Wind—there, intros done. What’s this about Adora?”

His aggravation diffused into a Level Three Glorious Mane Toss, “By our sacred bond, I’ve determined she was in a whole lot of hurt, somewhere near here.”

“Wait a tick…you were flying over the Crimson _Wastes?!_ You know what the area’s like, don’t you? We’re ready to eat you for breakfast, not serve you one,” Huntara crossed her arms.

“Ahhhh. That could be why everyone at home came out running and shouting at me to stop. How do I get to Adora?”

“We’re not all that sure. Through there, as far as we know.”

“You let her go in alone?!”

“It’s a First Ones’ place. We didn’t want her to, mind you, but she thought that’s what was needed.”

“Then off I—”

Not looking, Scorpia held out her pincer as a stopper to his enthusiastically raised front hoof, “It’s a cave, bud. How good are you in enclosed spaces?”

“Well…you have thumbs, I have wings. That should cover our obstacles, right?”

“Except light.”

The seasoned tracker brought them a club, one end wrapped in an oily cloth bound with wire. She passed it to Scorpia who stared at it as if it were a precious artifact. She turned next to gauge the corridor and blew out her cheeks, exhaling loudly.

“Yep, yep…I am totally the sacrificial private, here…possibly.”

Huntara laughed and punched her shoulder.

“Go get our girl.”

* * *

If there was one thing that could make Scorpia feel more badass than barreling into a pitch black tunnel, toward unknown danger, led by the thunder claps of horse hooves to rescue a fallen warrior, it was doing so with torch flames snapping and whipping in her ear. She now understood Sea Hawk’s yearn for adventure, and precisely why the word deserved an exclamation mark. Their flow came to a screeching stop as she saw Swift Wind stock still ahead of her. Scorpia tripped over herself trying to prevent their imminent impact. He was peering over the edge of a pit with a sheer drop. The horse squeezed to the side, letting his light bearer come forward to get the full scope.

“Do you think she's down there?” his voice shook.

She held out the torch, failing to see the bottom, “If she is, I think you would’ve felt her pain much earlier. This would’ve been her first test.”

A moment of contemplation later, a feminine moan bubbled up out of the shadows ahead of them.

“She made it to the other side!” Swift Wind pranced in place.

“Can you jump that?”

“With a run I can!”

They backed up as much as they could. Swift Wind delicately clutched the torch in his teeth with head tilted sideways as Scorpia climbed up to ride. The whole experience felt more like stacking misshapen toy building blocks than preparing for a dangerous feat. As her first time on horseback, she was a little shocked that she wasn’t oversized. Maybe after this was all done, they could—

Then Swifty started galloping, and everything changed.

If there was one thing that could make Scorpia feel more nervous than riding a winged horse down a dark, narrow hallway, ready to leap over a scary huge pit that she couldn’t see, it was doing so with torch flames snapping and whipping in her ear. Her stomach hung in the air the same time as they did and would’ve been pinwheeling in terror if it had arms. The jarring landing rocked through her spine. His hooves scraping and clacking on the stone was reminiscent of sliding down stairs on a board. When they finally stopped, the two of them were panting equally hard.

“Adora?”

Scorpia dismounted, calling out. The fire washed up against a bumpy wall, but in the faded, haunting shadows, there she was, slumped at its base. Each of Adora’s words was escorted out by labored breaths.

“Yep…I’m…here.”

Adora looked whole, free of cuts or open wounds, which is what worried Scorpia the most, but she was no doubt damaged and broken. Kneeling next to her, she gaped at the sigils seemingly carved from wrists to biceps, like split lines in a burnt log. At the points where they ended, the ones closest to her shoulders shifted and wavered, the skin flanking them pulsed.

“I don’t…I don’t know how to help.”

“It’ll pass…even…tually,” she groaned again, trying to move.

Swift Wind came forward slowly, fear etched deep into his face. The only thing that seemed appropriate was nuzzling her cheek, as gently as he could.

“Thanks, Swifty.”

“Who did this to you?”

“I…did…it’s how…I heal…the Sword.”

Scorpia’s head had minutely been shaking back and forth, in awe of how the charred lines continued writhing.

“But is it worth it?”

Adora’s next look was part confusion and part incredulity, “Always.”

“Can you move?” Swift Wind began to pivot and sink down to grabbing level. “We should get you to the healers as soon—”

“No, no…r-rule one…”

The horse frowned, “Rule? What rule?”

The former Horde captains responded as one, though one voice was hollow and the other deathly faint, “Never show weakness.”

Adora cleared her throat, sitting forward with immense effort, “Please trust me…it’ll pass. I just…need rest.”

“This is why you asked me to come, wasn’t it?”

“I had no idea…what was here…I wanted…you t-to meet Huntara,” she told Scorpia, “But to some point…yes…anyone else would’ve…stopped me.”

“All right,” Scorpia passed the torch to Swift Wind, and began shifting the weak body into her hold, “I’ll take you to your room. But you’ve gotta let me bring you anything you need.”

A wide, brilliant grin.

“Deal.”

* * *

There were three pounds of lead in each of the boots that carried Bright Moon’s Queen back to her chambers that evening. It didn’t seem to her that a single thing had been accomplished that day, despite her memories of the contrary. The infirmary staff had been pleased with her progress after more prodding and poking. Most of the food after breakfast stayed down. She could sense a deeper well of energy in her from the Moonstone. Under guidance from her father, Glimmer had attempted teleportation over a variety of distances and with objects that each had a different difficulty; it took only three spills on her father before she had mastered the cup full of water—one, admittedly, was on purpose. She had taken a brief walk outside the grounds with Perfuma and Bow, with several generous stops for her aching calves, and she successfully retained one or two poignant vistas. And now, it was graciously time for rest.

A nuance on her dresser begged her eye: a round candle holder with a female figure as the back, and whose wings curled around and down to the base at the front. The woman’s eyes were closed, hands gathered around an orb styled out of the ceramic surface, hair wavy and pink. It was undoubtedly Angella’s likeness. The piece spoke of honest skill, more than the usual displayed in any potter’s shops she had seen in Bright Moon. After lighting it, the flame changed periodically from light blue, to white, to fire yellow, to pale red (surprisingly, much different from pink). Poking out from under the edge was a note, written in a familiar, concise hand:

_For hope to comfort you in darkness. ~Frosta, Perfuma, & Adora_

The characters matched styles with the note left with the salve she applied that morning. _Which means only Adora could’ve left it there…does that woman ever sleep?_ She smiled to herself, rubbing over the inked text. They hadn’t seen each other all day, and yet the gestures put her mind at ease as if they hadn’t separated since she got back, and were about to raid the kitchen for any and all sweets. With a full smile that made the muscles on the back of her skull hurt, she remembered the day that Adora had come into the Best Friends Squad without really knowing what being a friend meant.

Of course, beyond the enchanting color of the candle, part of the reason Glimmer was reminiscing was to avoid the dread of trying to sleep. She knew what waited her in bed was seeing Horde Prime’s chamber in her vaulted ceiling and the darkness behind her eyes. His lack of emotion, his total control, the order to which he held everything were stowaways in her mind. She settled into her mattress, but her thoughts would run on and on. She pulled up her blanket to ward off the chill, but she couldn’t keep out the fear that he had let her be rescued on purpose, part of his grand design. And even with her eyes closed, she had to convince her ears that no footsteps were coming. Glimmer forced her drooping eyes and declining attention to hone in on the candle flame. She hoped it would lull her head noise into slumber and reward her with a modicum of rest.

The usual cheer of her room, from shining crystal lamps to the immaculate decorative arches, were now clothed in gloom. Yet another nuance hopped into the edge of her vision, and it forced a gasp out of her, like a predator’s mad dash toward a rabbit in hiding. There was a light on her ceiling, which threw her briefly into the unknown. Multiple lights were twinkling there, compounding the mystery, though they stayed still, encompassing the arc over her bed’s end of the room. She stood up, squinting at them, but wasn’t any closer to an answer.

Then Glimmer rolled her eyes at her actions, and abashedly sent up a luminous pink orb to brighten the area. She uncovered tiny mirrors, attached to her ceiling by… _the ceiling?_ The normally smooth surface was dotted with nodules holding the mirrors at various angles, all meant to reflect the candle’s flame down toward her sleeping position. _They mentioned Frosta can control non-living things…that must’ve been her part. And Perfuma, I guess to use her vines to lift her up there._

Touched beyond words, staring up at her friends’ creation, Glimmer dismissed her light and lay back down. _Stars…they’re the stars_ , she sighed, _and these are probably those mirrors Entrapta brought to Adora_. She had heard her friends and peers already using the word in their expressions of awe and admiration. Here, in her struggle on the edge of both rest and losing her grip, she saw how accurately the word fit, how easily the term had fallen into their everyday like a long lost friend. This new, beautiful addition to their breathtaking night sky would live on in their songs, stories, and poems for generations to come. It was beneath them that, tied to the land and the sleeping Etherians twenty feet and miles away, Glimmer’s heart breathed in peace, and found its rest.

* * *

We see a shock of white hair on a woman, poised at the edge of one of Bright Moon’s lake banks. The half-covered moons play with reflections on ripples and undercurrents, and impart a treasured landscape that will never grow old to her. The dull black of the smooth rocks below her is shined by the water lapping at her boots. Her back is straight, gaze sure. At a call of her name, she turns and raises her pincers as if the latter was her main attention. A smaller, fiercer woman, arms outstretched, sends an ice block sailing towards her. Her stalwart companion brings her pincers together—side by side, then top and bottom. The ice block shrinks, condenses, and then bursts apart as it continues on to her quick sidekick. They share the same laughter.

We see, reclined on wide and warm courtyard steps, a dark young man with bright eyes, searching for stars and destinations brighter still. Next to him is a slender young woman, a soul truly verdant. She speaks in hushed tones confessions of her growth, which reflect off the expertly laid marble all around them and stir like sleeping babes. With quiet acceptance, he listens on and watches her shyness fall away. He is overtaken by admiration that he has only read of in stories of old.

We see a proud woman lying in bed, aquamarine sheets hiding her injuries from sight, her midnight blue braid her only company. She points open palms at a row of paper pinwheels, varying in height, size, and orientation. As two rotate in one direction, the next does so in a decisive, precise pattern unmatched by the other two. The tiredness on her stretches and molds itself into another layer of beauty. A tear rolls down her cheek and reflects that pride into her healing, for she is Queen of the Sea, both siren and song.

We see a king at last climb into bed, relaxed and freed from the day. His thoughts drift, as they ever will, to his people, his land, and his love. Her angelic face and presence is but a shadow next to the radiance he relives with each passing day, in the shimmering legacy of their daughter. His sigh is weary and breaths slowing. They are a reflection of the evening of life and acceptance of the unavoidable flow. But he smiles, for the possibilities of the dawn will break soon enough. Soon enough.

We see a bedroom door crack inward, the hallway light falling on that daughter who is cradled in a less troubled sleep this night. The marks on her tanned skin are dissipating, the malice behind them waning, the sparkle of Etheria’s gifts returning. At the door, the drained warrior stays simply an observer and takes heart in the scene, its pages yet to be written. Above them, winking in and out, the candle mirrors reflect a well-aged affection. Above them still, the universe of stars bids them both rest, in knowledge of what trials lie ahead. The blonde woman closes the door quietly, and finally seeks her empty bed.

And as we rise into a small expanse of said universe, the purples and rich black take on an air of wonder in donning their star strewn coat. We anticipate pain and loss, and not the celebration of cultures and civilizations thriving. We are shaken by fear, and not by the comets that strike fire across the sky and on the lips of poets. We prepare for the depression of war, and not the beautiful instants at which a timeline could change. We do all this because we see tall, foreboding drop ships descend in an absolute silence that would shatter the surrounding serenity. They are observed solely because of the stars they seem to snuff out in an observer’s range of vision, voids without reflection.

It is night. By morning, all will know Horde Prime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In chess, knights on the edge of the board are less powerful than they are in the middle. Ideally they can threaten/protect up to 8 squares, whereas an edge knight could get between 2-4.
> 
> Season 5 spoiler ahead (I'm only on episode 5, so watch your comments please)! I've been waiting to post that scene of the mirror stars for Glimmer for a while now. As for Adora's repairing the Sword, I was quite disappointed with the show, how it came so easily back to her. I understand she and Catra had a close bond as kids, but then they spent four seasons tearing it apart? I agree that saving Glimmer was a big show of loyalty, but I think Adora's hero complex was too cliche to be able to create a new Sword from scratch. How do we hire someone to make a She-Ra reboot for adults?
> 
> Words are incredibly important to me. I wanted to make swearing seem natural, but also give it an Etherian spin. Also, I've never found a good term for one's butt that doesn't sound either juvenile or pretentious (I'm open to suggestions), so Adora's tailbone injury was just meant to be her butt. Pilivice and rarmelion will be translated later, no worries--I'm actually kinda proud with how they're related to Earth forms and yet not. And since First Ones characters are all phonetic, it's completely in the realm of possibility that they have words unknown in Etherian circles.
> 
> The format of the last bit ("we see...") was inspired by a wonderful live-play podcast called The Adventure Zone, by the McElroy family. If you want to listen to exciting gameplay, as well as family jokes and a delicately woven storyline, look them up. Griffin's storytelling pulls at my heartstrings every time. They put a lot of thought into not only their characters and their motivations, but keeping cultural respect and GRSM (gender, romantic, and sexual minorities) prevalent in their work.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	10. Pawns Captured, Queen Prepares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5, with no alterations to the events in seasons 1-4.

A brisk knock came to King Micah’s door. The morning had yet to be called young, and his haze of sleep smudged out the initial inquiry. He wriggled back and forth, feeling out his aches, and awaited the second.

“Your Majesty?”

“Come in, Amina.”

The steward’s head angled around the door like a long-necked petrellie, and blinked much the same, “There’s a message from the front: a host of Horde soldiers showed up at Casayon, offering surrender.”

“As of when?” Micah sat straight up.

“Around midnight. They’ve been interrogating them through the small hours, my King,” they explained. “They’ve asked you to come make a decision.”

“Do you know how many of the council are in?” he dropped his feet on the cool marble floor.

“All but Princess Mermista.”

“Aaaahhh…”

Calculating the potential of the situation, he wobbled his head as if writing mental notes, “Please wake them all. Have a squad of Terlia’s guards accompany us.”

“Right away.”

A great and heavy sigh escaped. His infection of wakefulness from Beast Island had stopped three nights prior, yet the restless sleep persisted. Fatigue greeted him every sunrise, it seemed. Yet his bones rose and walked proudly to his closet to dress—the one habit that had returned quickest, for some reason. To contrast the lighter choices of Glimmer’s, he was now prone to wear navy and wine colors. He no longer had to ask for advice, and was thankful the staff didn’t outwardly pass judgment of his rejecting sleeves, for the practice had saved him during isolation. Beasts’ claws and fangs on his skin were anchors, reminders that he was in _this_ world if he could see the marks and feel how his skin stretched.

Staff in hand, crown on head, he made for the front of the grounds. General Brizeus was giving last orders to her subordinates who’d be staying behind. She seemed as alert and as stoic as ever: helm under her arm, angles of her face slicing through shadows of early sun, donning a pressed uniform and a commanding stature second to none.

“Any news?” Micah asked.

“They arrived with supplies and skiffs, bearing Horde banners with a black slash through their symbol. They told our commanders that they wanted to switch sides, had intel to share,” Brizeus’ summary rushed out.

“Oh? What intel?”

“They wouldn’t tell us. Their leaders wanted assurance for the safety of their group. Said they wanted a face to face with our Alliance leaders before they handed it over.”

Micah nodded, pensive.

“So far, they’ve cooperated with everything. Gave up their weapons, registered names and ranks. They’re setting up a makeshift camp, waiting for us.”

“Smells like a trap.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

The rest of the council members split up between their two skiffs, Glimmer and Scorpia climbing up on to his. Both looked a little ragged from the rough awakening, and that was saying something, that he could read Scorpia’s attitude beyond her general disarray. The skiff’s pilots continued their checks and readied for departure. The hush of the palace grounds came no further than their vehicles, instead sent anxious feelers into their midst.

“Morning, Glimmer,” Micah approached his daughter.

She didn’t respond. Her amethyst eyes instead fastened to the containers being loaded and secured by the guards at the bow. They were supplies for the front, undeniable signs of war’s toll, donated by Bright Moon. Her mind was not aboard, but oddly, an expression of admiration and awe was.

“Glimmer?”

“Oh!...hi, dad.”

“Do you need me to cover for you so you can nap on the way there?” he grinned mischievously.

“Pssh, no. I’m okay. Do you…think we’ll have a fight on our hands with their soldiers?”

He recognized her trick, of asking a relatively specific question to cover her inattention. Micah spared one last pass over the activity which dragged her away mentally, and kept his smile to himself.

“It’s possible, but their sincerity is, too. Perhaps the reason we haven’t seen action from their side is infighting, and these soldiers are one side of that.”

“I really hope they’re sincere.”

“Me too,” he patted her shoulder, “Me too.”

The drivers signaled they were ready to leave. All parties found a seat near the side, or braced themselves on another part of the interior. Micah pulled Brizeus nearer the center to run over several contingencies. Some guards nervously eyed Scorpia, who leaned half over the side, enjoying the wind. Glimmer strangely also reveled in the chill air racing past her, like the blur of the woodlands mixing together in a sweet banner around them. Nature was bright and alive that morning, as if in full sun and not the overcast that had moved in during the night. Both distinctly individual and as one, tree limbs and hidden buds and screens of underbrush heavy with dew reached out to her, their queen. So far, a fair start to her day.

“Heya.”

Adora was at her side, half facing her and half the wooded scene. Cinching her medium gray and cream tunic in place was yet another set of armor made from a woven technical fiber. Deep purple, running across her shoulders and back in the style of the palace guards, it looked more like a thin quilt than protective. What lit Glimmer’s curiosity, though, was the inclusion of Bright Moon’s insignia on the shoulders and other highlights in mauve and dark royal blue. And oddly, Adora’s usual ponytail was slung over her shoulder in a neat and tight braid.

“Hey,” she parroted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have an armor obsession.”

Adora looked down quizzically, “Oh, yeah—heh. Maybe. I asked Entrapta to improve on the leathers that Leanor made for me. This one has a First Ones’ crystal embedded underneath the back. Should keep me safer.”

“Did she pick the colors too?”

“That was me. I’ve taken on more jobs around the palace, and I’m pretty much based there anyway. It…just made sense.”

“Ahhh, that’s why you were helping with the supplies…I like it, though. Bright Moon looks good on you.”

In true Adora fashion—at which her friend couldn’t help but smile—she bypassed the compliment with uncomfortable blushing.

Glimmer lowered her voice, “Thank you for everything, the healing salve and the…ceiling decór. They were wonderful surprises.”

“Did they help?”

She heard Adora’s trepidation, run thick with concern. The noises and wind whipping by began taking a wider berth around an invisible haven surrounding them, a sense of the familiar strengthening it.

“They did. I feel recharged. When did you have time to get that candle holder?”

“I’ve had it for…ooooh, quite a while. I couldn’t find a good time to give it to you.”

Glimmer swallowed, “Could we…talk about that soon? There’s no way to repair that damage I-I caused, but I don’t want it just hanging between us.”

“Sure, we can…soon.”

“Good! I mean, thank you.”

They slowly turned back to the passing landscape. Glimmer snuck her arm around Adora’s lower back, where the touch confirmed what she had been reading from her since the rescue mission. Adora’s limbs and hips projected ease and calm, itself an armor that expertly hid how tight and guarded she actually was. The taller woman didn’t copy her friend’s gesture, just keeping her hands glued on the rail. But she did lean toward the contact, and Glimmer mournfully accepted the morsel.

The convoy broke smoothly through the dense treeline into rolling plains splotched with thin copses of scraggly sumac and scrub brush. The growth, sparse though it was, indicated recovery from the Horde’s devastation in the area. In part also due to hunters in the encampment, animal life was not yet frequent enough to describe as “rare.” Glimmer remembered conflicting diet and lifestyles had been unseen complications in combining kingdoms under the Rebellion. Otherwise, they had melded harmoniously in tactics, organization, and skill recognition. The recent hiatus of combat had done well for everything.

They crested one final hill a half hour later, and saw Casayon sprawling before them. Large stone obelisks bordered the camp at about twenty paces from the edge of the tents and a variety of more permanent wooden structures. Those had been installed courtesy of Mystacor to provide a temporary energy shield that could be activated if attacked. The whole of the camp with activity—sparring arenas, weapons drilling, cleaning up breakfast, maintaining a couple of skiffs, exercising and feeding mounts. On the eastern most edge, Glimmer could make out a squad of soldiers waiting on their arrival, and at their head, the distinct collections of excitement known as Netossa and Spinnarella.

Their reunion was the briefest to date, sadly. Casayon’s colonel led them swiftly off to the northeast quadrant, nearest the contingent of ex-Horde soldiers. Colonel Heran was a shrewd-looking but insightful Plumerian, with sea green skin that molded into maple brown ridges down her arms and over her knuckles. She explained the new refugee area; though well-kept and organized already, it leeched off the side of the camp like a blob of mud on someone’s face who had tripped into a puddle. A couple worn out tents had been taken out of the supply storage to spare for the newcomers. A pair of hefty Etherians with rams’ horns helped tie tarps between the edges of the Horde skiffs and stakes in the ground, as makeshift shade. Most of the soldiers milled about much in the same patterns of the rest of Casayon and, ironically to Glimmer, three were left posted as a watch on their border, essentially staring down the Rebellions’ own watch who kept an eye on the ex-Horde camp.

They all ducked into a square canvas pavilion, the inside arranged to be a combat planning tent with a long map table, chairs, and adequate hung lighting. A guard stood in each corner, short sword sheathed at their side and clutching an upright spear. Only one lantern was lit at the moment, and at the far end of the table was a sturdy woman bearing an eye patch, dark skin, dreaded hair pulled back. Seated at her side was a bare chested lizardfolk male, clawed fingers folded under his bandaged chin as he looked over the map. The colonel bid the Bright Moon company sit as she spoke.

“This is Lonnie Nesita and Rogelio, leaders of the soldiers who came in last night.”

“Thank you, Colonel Heran. Lonnie, Rogelio, how are you feeling? Can we get you anything?”

The collective shock of King Micah’s inquiry, even from the ex-Horde soldiers, was palpable. The council members paused in the middle of seating themselves, not quite sure they had heard him properly.

“N-no, we’re fine…uh, thanks,” Lonnie answered suspiciously.

“Please, sit. I’m sure you’ve had a tiring day. And night. What information did you bring us?”

“Horde Prime has landed, “ she said bluntly, “And he’s taken control of the Horde. It won’t be long before he starts an assault on all your kingdoms.”

Glimmer felt her blood turn to ice, and she gasped along with everyone else. Her dad, composed as ever, continued on.

“When did you leave? How were you able to get away?”

“Three of us ran away from the Horde last week when everything started goin’ down, but we’ve had trouble living on our own, so we sneak back every now and then to steal supplies. We saw his ships land last night, late, and he called a meeting in the main barracks. We were able to spread word amongst the grumblers, to see who’d follow us out, now that they knew what he was up to. It wasn’t pretty. We were caught by others and had to fight our way past.”

“Where’s Kyle? Did you leave him behind!?” Adora interrupted, her burning accusation spanning the gap between them.

“He _chose_ to stay! We couldn’t stop him!” Lonnie snarled. “Stupid genius…he said he thought there’d be more soldiers he could convince. Bastard said he’d be the one least suspected of leading a resistance.”

Rogelio looked up sharply, jaw pumping more than his series of roars.

“I meant ‘bastard’ in a friendly way,” she mumbled to him.

“How’d you manage to get away with all the supplies?” Bow asked.

“There’s been insubordination all over the place. Officers too, as I’m sure you know,” the young woman gestured to Scorpia. “You think we’re only soldiers, but we’re still combat trained for tight situations.”

“Why did you bring these particular supplies? There’s hardly any food, or survival gear. The hybrid plating, weapons, energy cells, armor. These would help you fight, not live.”

Lonnie’s laugh was humorless, “Most of us have been on half rations at some point, some of us frequently. We’ll do just fine for a while. The other stuff is to bargain our way into the Rebellion.”

“Which would work, if there weren’t the whole ‘we were just trying to kill you last week’ thing,” Frosta brooded from her chair.

Adora quite easily recognized Catra’s tempers as Lonnie bristled, crossing her arms tight.

“I get it. I do. You’ve no reason to trust us. The way I see it, you have more materials, you have inside information—more than Scorpia could give you—plus a full battery of trained soldiers, who can easily blend into your enemies’ ranks. The Horde always thought you guys were stupid. I hope you’re not gonna prove ‘em right.”

A dam of hidden anger spilled onto the council’s mood. The tremulous note of Entrapta muttering into her recorder was garbled in its waves. The creaking of King Micah’s stool replied first, a scornful note accompanying his stern shoulders pushing out his examination.

“Are you truly committed to helping us? To changing from your past?”

“We are,” she nodded, her words just as sharp and strong.

In a blink, before her lips stopped making sound, his arm stirred up a circle of runes and shot it across their bodies. This, finally, shifted Rogelio’s attention.

“Did you lie to us in any of what you’ve said since you surrendered to the camp?”

“No,” Lonnie stuttered.

“Have you omitted anything that would bring us, our lands, or the Rebellion harm?”

“N-no, nothing.”

The king hesitated, then said, “Why do you want to fight with us?”

Lonnie checked herself with her companion, who shrugged, “I’m here because I’m sick of the Horde hurting people. They started with a good idea, but then we just became bullies, and killing doesn’t do any good.”

The flow of anger slowed to a trickle, and eventually evaporated entirely. Glimmer shook her head in wonder. She noted how all of the alliance members seemed open, like a book free of words committed to its pages. They were speechless, at hearing their own thoughts from out of history renewed with fervor in one they once called enemy.

“Very well. You may return to your soldiers, and we’ll let you know our answer.”

Movements wavering, they pushed back from the table and made for the exit. Adora rose as well, ducking out under the flap. Bow brushed the top of his thick hair.

“I got nothin’. That could go either way.”

“They were both under the truth spell. We’ve never known anyone to be able to resist it,” Glimmer pointed out.

“Okay, but how would we trust all the rest of them? I bet we’ve got a bunch that will flip when they see an opportunity to get away,” Frosta said.

“Looks like I have an opportunity to put my new powers to use,” Perfuma offered. “I could stay here, watching them for a bit, and see what their emotions tell me.”

“Does that mean we press in on the Fright Zone? Start infiltrating them?” Scorpia raised a strategizing pincer.

“We could, we could…I’m with Frosta. We need a test first that won’t risk us too much. Any ideas?” Micah looked to everyone in turn.

“If anything, let’s see about mixing some training. Exchange some ideas, teach both sides different tactics,” Scorpia suggested.

“Colonel?”

“I’d be open to that. With supervision, of course.”

“I’d say that’s a good—”

“We have a much bigger problem on hand,” Glimmer tapped the wooden table rapidly, words quaking, “Prime has control of the Black Garnet. If he knows what that means…I don’t want to alarm anyone, but that could be the end for us. All of us.”

“Mmmm, yes. I don’t think we have a choice but to go in right away.”

“Wait a tick, can it even be moved? Have we ever tried that?” Frosta asked.

“There is a possibility that the power gems were positioned by the First Ones to distribute the wells of magic equally over the planet’s surface,” Entrapta interjected, “But I’ve only theorized about that. My models weren’t conclusive. It could result in—”

“Explosions, right,” Bow finished, and gestured to the table map. “I don’t think it’d matter. Scorpia’s family gave up the Black Garnet when the Horde first landed. Wouldn’t it have been located in Scorpion Hall?”

“It was. I remember it in our throne room,” Scorpia confirmed.

“We’ll have to choose carefully where we next position it. Its magicks should be stabilized, and it needs to be in a protected area,” said Micah.

“Well, that’s great news. We still have to get it out, first,” Glimmer added.

“A frontal assault would be impossible,” Bow shook his head. “All of the Horde plus clones? No chance. And we won’t be able to sneak in like you guys did before, to rescue Glimmer and me.”

Netossa lit up, “I could—”

“Valiant, dear, but not enough. We’re talking about an entire army’s worth of fire power against your nets,” Spinnarella rubbed her forearm reassuringly.

“How about the air? If Glimmer could get near enough with Swifty and Adora, they’d just have to drop her in, and she can teleport out with it.”

“Mmmm, as skilled as they are, I don’t like that,” Micah spoke around steepled fingers. “All the Horde has to do is take down one target, and with She-Ra out. It’d have a better chance after nightfall, and that’s too long of a wait…no, let’s think of something else.”

“If not frontal…what about from below?” the Princess of Snows said, as if she were still forming the idea.

“Uh, what? There’s no way our engineers could dig that fast.”

“No, _Bow_ …I meant me. The ground isn’t living, right? I could tunnel us under, and Entrapta could sync up her tracker pad to tell our distance from Hordak’s old sanctum.”

“Frosta, that’s a loooong way. I know you’re strong, but…” Perfuma petered out.

“I’ve got that,” Glimmer felt a sliver of potential grow inside of her. “I can teleport her back to the Fractal Flake to recharge when she needs it.”

Micah was quiet for a long time, everyone watching for reaction. Breezes rippled the walls, reminding them of the fields that surrounded Casayon. Strains of conversation died away from near the tent’s entrance. Glimmer’s pulse kicked at her thoughts just as she did, trying to find a weakness, fretting that she had overlooked one. Ever placid, her father molded into a statue, betraying no inch of judgment either way. _Is that what being a king means? I have to overthink everything while keeping it all together?_ Another manacle of insecurity piled on.

“This…could be it. We’ll send half the Bright Moon squad with you,” the king said at last. “Perfuma, Scorpia, you’ll stay here with me. Adora and Bow, go with to guard against any chaos. Frosta, practice a bit before you all go. Get an idea of how much earth you can move, how deep you have to go, and how much strain it causes. However the digging pans out, you should do one final recharge before breaking up into the base.”

“Entrapta, you’ve studied the stones the most. Do you think I’d be able to teleport with it?”

“You’ve moved the Sword before, and She-Ra, too. I’d say there’s a high probability you could…though that might be wrong and we really have no idea what anomalies could come out.”

“I think you ought to come with. You’d be able to tell if we need my dad or Scorpia to stabilize it in order to physically move it. How’s that sound?”

Her normal eagerness was leagues away, and instead she answered resignedly, “Sure.”

Glimmer cocked her head back, not sure what to make of the change. Perfuma peered at the scientist with concern.

Bow raised his hand, “What’s our back up plan? What if Prime knows we’re coming for it and he’s waiting?”

Conversational gap offered its advice, again, unbidden. Glimmer couldn’t see anything else. The portals were only safely a one-way solution; the idea of bringing one of Etheria’s centers of magical energy through a center of interdimensional energy was far more complex than her mind wanted to handle right now. Their other suggestions had been possible at best, successful if several miracles got involved. _We_ need _the Black Garnet. There’s just no way for Scorpia to help us return the Heart of Etheria without it,_ she stopped herself from shrugging externally, conscious others’ observations.

“We don’t have one,” Glimmer drew her chin up, instead. “If we’re pushing ahead with Bow’s theory, we cannot, _cannot_ …let it be taken by Prime. Scorpia needs it, meaning the Rebellion needs it…meaning Etheria needs it.”

Across the table, Frosta’s sharp features contracted the tiniest amount, scrutinizing, before widening back to her childish openness. Glimmer found all the others adopting a similar attitude, with a promise of confidence. Her father’s held a note of admiration that rang clear.

“You’re absolutely right, Queen Glimmer. Let’s get this plan moving.”

* * *

“Lonnie, Ro—wait.”

Adora’s old squad mates turned like doors in an old fence, reluctant and out of practice. She wasn’t surprised by their stone expressions, but neither did it divert her intention.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry I jumped down your throat. I know you always looked out for each other. Even when we made fun of Kyle.”

“You’re right, we did. Then _someone_ abandoned us.”

The blonde wouldn’t shrink from the criticism. Not after all these years of believing in and fighting for good, for the _right_ side, for something bigger. _For something more important than me._ Rogelio seemed ever unreadable. Lonnie’s jaw flexed.

“Turns out she was right.”

“I didn’t abandon y—”

“I _know_ , Adora! I’m trying to apologize. Can ya let me finish?” she seethed.

“…oh.”

“Right—‘oh’,” Lonnie mocked, clenching her fists. “Look: we let Catra get to us. Shadow Weaver too. We were kept off balance and exhausted running ops. Everything that she told us fit, as far as we could tell.”

Rogelio chittered and chained some guttural hisses together. Lonnie waved him off.

“Yeah, yeah, we ignored Kyle, too. Every once in a while, he’d drop a line about joining you. More often after you came to rescue your other friends. We didn’t come around ‘til he almost died in the Whispering Woods. That’s when we started planning, saving resources, for that day when we’d grow a spine.”

“Why didn’t you come to us then? We could’ve helped.”

“And we’d ‘ave never heard the end of that, duh! We figured Etheria was big enough to hide out of range of all of this. But…we didn’t realize how ugly the Fright Zone is, y’know? Once we were out in the open, not focused on the next mission, next objective, next next next. It all just became wasteland. Funny how the latest and greatest tech hides everything that’s in front of your face.”

A hint of despair latched onto Adora, clinging like a frightened shipwreck survivor, like a sob in the night. The lizardfolk attempted to put a hand on Lonnie’s shoulder, but stubbornness shrugged it away. For the first time in… _well, ever_ , Adora saw herself from the outside. _Have I always jumped at the chance to save someone for the sake of it?_ She held back now, noticing how closely Lonnie’s irises matched Mermista’s, the same gold-brown shade in both friend and (former) enemy. _How do I know what to say here?_

“Is there anything I can do?”

She considered her former captain for a couple drawn-out, awkward moments, as if it were a question Lonnie had never been asked before that very second.

“Help us convince the others to let us join. Don’t kill whenever you can…you know what it’s like: there’s no tellin’ who fights because they’re ordered to, and who fights because they want to.”

“The Rebellion has lost a lot to the Horde. It’ll be a tough sell, but there should be some out there who’ll listen. I’ll do what I can.”

Butting in, Rogelio nudged the young woman and gave a sheepish rumbling growl. His squad mate seemed to adopt his timidity, as well.

“Oh yeah, and, uh…maybe someone would be able to teach us how to cook? Not urgent, or anything…just whenever you have a spare hour. Before our rations run out.”

Adora smirked, “You’d want the camp cook, not me. The sword’s not the only thing I kill with nowadays.”

* * *

Frosta hadn’t wanted her powers at first. All the talk of destiny and responsibility and guiding the people of the Snows—that was boring adult stuff. She remembered that crisp, bitter day, right after the perfect snowfall. Her siblings were going out to build forts and have a fight, and she’d be sent to the desert if she was going to let them have all the fun! An eight-year-old Frosta ran out after them (late from her dad lacing up her boots) and tumbled into the thick of it. Their walls were moderately sloppy, the snowball piles depressing, the throws embarrassing.

Once she joined Flur’s side, who had taken her out of pity, the others had _no_ idea what hit them (besides snowballs, obviously). It was because of the first time in her memory, in a place of constant commotion with ice walls that rebounded anything down to a solitary sneeze, two overactive parents, and five boisterous children, she found silence. No memories to light up Frosta’s immature and chaotic mind, no brittle snowflakes ticking as they hit their marks on snowfall’s stage, no breath manifesting in their chilly halls.

Absolute, implacable quiet, and that’s where her abilities came alive, a surprise to everyone but her. She loved it, played with it, needed it, _craved_ it, though it would be several devastating years to navigate out of the haunted maze where her mastery had sent her. The end, apparently, was here on the outskirts of Casayon, amidst warmer winds and lazy, waving grasses instead of snaking drifts. _It’s good to know they all shut up the same_ , she thought. Spiraling in a slow circle with her will extended like a pendulum, Frosta cut a cylinder into that void twenty feet beneath her, and pushed. Dust flew up, like spooked grouse launched from their thicket by a hunter, and the group plunged into the earth. Shouts of surprise stayed above, in their original positions. Bow and Glimmer were awestruck, glowing with respect and watching small pockets in the revealed earthen face as they dropped clumps of dirt onto the sunken disc.

“Can you imagine?” the maker’s face sparkled. “Think of what you could—”

“Nuh uh, Bow. One plan at a time,” Frosta bent her elbows. “Keep them in your recorder, and let me work.”

She pushed apart her arms, and the dirt before them snapped to the sides, the beginnings of her tunnel opening. The dark-haired Princess rose from her horse stance, walked into her dead end, then repeated. The cut unleashed a grainy haze of a smoky earth smell. Glimmer covered her nose with her sleeve to prevent a coughing fit. She felt an ember of wonder at the nonchalant way the girl went about her task. _All this in a matter of days?_ They really weren’t giving Frosta enough credit for her aptitude.

Glimmer didn’t join the rest of them right away as they slowly meandered down the expanse. _Dirt takes up space. Can I teleport objects that are touching others? All of my clothes are touching me when I teleport, after all_ , she pondered. She envisioned a clump of grass stalks in her outstretched hand, yearned for the weight of the clump on her fingerless glove. Strands, the pull of her magic, threaded through her veins. The pressure grew, and grew, but Glimmer released before it became too painful. A snicker sounded; Bow had doubled-back to be her audience.

“Are you magic mocking?”

“Nope, just gathering data,” his teeth were a brilliant white against his smiling cheeks. “What were you attempting?”

“Seeing what sort of manipulation I can do on a patch of dirt.”

“So you _were_ trying to move the planet!”

Glimmer rolled her eyes over in exasperation, “Not that big. Part of it, like a handful.”

“And you couldn’t?” he asked as they started in.

“Not yet. Felt like it tried, I think. Did Mystacor come up with anything to help return the Heart? Should I be using my powers to help?”

“Ehhhh…they’re doing a lot of research for it. They’re well versed in transferring or assigning enchantments on objects, like a spear or an orb, but those have fewer unknowns than Etheria.”

“So…nothing useful?”

“Not immediately.”

Up ahead, Adora began walking backwards while chiming in, “What sort of unknowns? Etheria’s a single planet. We know where it ends.”

The maker broke out a brighter than normal glow rod from his belt, “But look at the magic it produces. Even if it was featureless, covered in ice—at which point, we’d have to debate whether or not it qualifies as a planet—that one thing gives off numerous distinct types of magic. If the Guild disenchants an object, they know literally everything about it. How the energy works, what effects come out, what amount of essence gives what level of power.”

“What would any of that have to do with unench…dis…disenchanting?” Adora fumbled for the correct word.

“Think about when you’re fighting. If you throw a punch, you’re aware of how far you can reach, where your fist effectively ends. If you’re too far away, you won’t be able to hit Catra, so you’d have to move closer,” Bow held out his arm in front to demonstrate.

His friend smirked at the implication, “Of course, I get that. I don’t see the connection to magic, though.”

“If they don’t know where an object ends, they run the risk of not getting all the magic out of it. Extracting the magic from the hood of a cloak could leave essence behind in the other parts,” Glimmer reasoned, stepping around a stream of dirt that sifted out of the ceiling, “There are too many variables, in other words. Like picturing every detail of the entire world, or all of the life forms that have to accept this energy transfer.”

“Exactly!” Bow beamed.

“That…kinda makes sense. What about knowing the behavior? Of the magic, I mean. What purpose does that serve?”

“That, I think, is another kind of limit, just different from a physical limit. Magic that acts in specific and particular ways with its object may have a certain way to be released, too. We know a bow can be made of wood, but that leaves its length, type of wood, curvature of the arms, string material all variable. Simply knowing something is magical is only one piece of its complexity.”

“Ahhh. I guess I see why the Heart is so complicated.”

“What if that’s not the way we need to be addressing the issue?” Glimmer raised a finger, “We don’t know much about the First Ones’ methods. Would we know if we’re going down the wrong path? Wasting all that time?”

They walked along in quiet contemplation. Ahead of them, Frosta had slowed a bit from her original cadence. The scents around them now were tinged with oil, heat starting to leak into the tunnel and their closeness. In monitoring their surroundings and progress, the blonde easily got distracted by Glimmer’s profile. The softness in Adora’s eyes matched the cornflower light of the glow rod; both fell on her friend’s delicate features, on rose-colored hair that had matured and grown to her shoulders. Responsibilities clung on, hidden worries bowed her back, yet there was still resilience shining like the moonstone in her circlet. Adora yearned to share that burden, to run her hands through velvet tresses, to feel Glimmer relax against her chest, to do lots of things she realized she had wanted over the years.

“What if they had She-Ra and the Sword to look at? If the First Ones made her into the key to release the Heart…” Adora trailed off.

An inner giddiness caused Bow to stutter, seeing his friend’s lack of self-judgment, “Maybe. I think they could find _something_ in the shards that could help.”

She nodded, “I think another session and it’ll be repaired.”

It took a beat for her meaning to sink in with Bow and Glimmer. Adora looked a nervous rookie at the Princess Prom, anxiously ignoring acknowledgement from potential dance partners. In sync, they turned on her like prairie dogs spotting movement.

“What!?”

“Shoot, sorry I didn’t share. That lead from Huntara worked. I was able to remake half of it.”

“Adora, that’s amazing! How did you repair it?”

“By, uh…by She-Ra’s healing abilities, like with Salineas’ Gate,” she answered, thoughtful. “But the Sword takes a lot more out of me and the magic.”

Glimmer held her tongue, seeing right through the attempt to downplay, even in the near dark. _She always was a terrible actor._

“Does that mean you can pull off She-Ra for the fight? Or bring the Sword to bear? That would put this mission in the bag.”

Adora’s raised eyebrows went unnoticed. _Bring it to bear? That’s certainly a new phrase, more like something from her dad,_ “I didn’t want to chance using it before it’s fully repaired, in case it breaks again. I’m not sure if I’d be able to a second time, and speaking of, we—”

Bow, with a high-pitched yelp, and Adora suddenly blinked out and then in ten feet back, as the ceiling above them partially caved. Glimmer released their arms, opening one eye then the other. Frosta raised her hand toward the weak area, twisting her opened fingers in a strained motion. Crunching and whispering, the earth imitated her ministrations and solidified.

“Thanks,” she said wearily, “I’ll keep an eye on that more.”

“How’re you doing on energy?” Glimmer dusted herself off.

But Frosta was back in oblivion, swiping with a single hand in side-to-side arcs to carve a slightly more stable tunnel. Bow unpacked his tracker pad. Padding along a dozen feet off the Princess of Snows, the other women noticed glistening in her movements, sweat and collected dust in her tricep lines. In an earlier rare moment of surrender, Frosta had shrugged out of her coat sleeves and let the top portion drape over her belt. Underneath, she wore a capped sleeve wool shirt, which covered no less than eight layers of muscle: one of those images that everyone entertained about what she had hidden under there, yet were still surprised when it proved true.

“Aisha! We’re already over a mile in!”

Bow’s exclamation sounded pleasantly surprised, though Adora was unnerved while cut off from relying on sunlight and its position. Low light was gradually lulling her toward dreamland, and her senses were more than ready to acquiesce.

“How far did Entrapta say it was?” Adora inquired.

“About five miles or so. We’re making great time.”

“All right, and did you two go over the plan for once we’re there?”

Bow shrugged, “Eh…kinda?”

“Uh huh,” Adora said with unmasked disbelief, “And did anyone _else_ come up with something as an option?”

With how often silence responded to questions, it could easily be a part of the Princess Alliance. The nervous laughter in Bow’s and Glimmer’s exchanged looks threw a palpable fog of tension at their feet. Adora rolled her neck and exhaled.

“I swear, someday you guys are gonna need to plan on your own for these missions. So…let’s have the guards ring up…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope readers appreciated the Pluto joke, and how I've basically equated Frosta with Toph. They're incredibly similar, if you think about it.
> 
> This chapter took me longer than I had hoped. The conversation scene in the tunnel didn't flush out in my head until the past couple of days, and I've had a lot of personal issues going on recently. Be ready for both action and feels in the next chapter.
> 
> (Minor season 5 spoiler ahead) Still not through all of season 5, just got through episode 10 now. I have to say I shouted for joy when Frosta flat out punched Catra, so beautiful. I also felt a little heart flutter when Adora and Glimmer were gathered around Netossa and Spinny--a great parallel, despite it not being endgame. And Netossa never fails to keep it real by addressing 4th wall issues!
> 
> I've also started in to The Lumberjanes at a friend's request, which is a good series if you haven't read it already.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	11. Check

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5, with no alterations to the events in seasons 1-4.

Octavia hated the quiet. The Fright Zone’s original flavor was some sort of thrumming at a lower than normal volume. The great war machine had thrummed nearly all of her life, even penetrating into her sleep. It was a constant sparring partner, a criticizing officer, an unruly subordinate. All Horde soldiers knew their version of quiet, and did their best to occupy themselves with training to ward it off. In such a likeness, the sea elf checked over the mounted energy cannon and verified it diagnostics came up clean. The clone called Horde Prime seemed to be the perfect replacement for Hordak, with a discerning sense of efficiency and need for control—she wouldn’t be the one to screw up this protection detail.

She also wasn’t one to question Catra’s judgment— _that impertinent upstart—_ but she did have to wonder why repairing Hordak’s sanctum wasn’t madea priority. Neglected gaps and cracks in its walls and ceiling ran rampant, a condition that was more like the infection of rundown, outdated parts of the Fright Zone, rather than the tight ship Octavia had had a hand in running. Where was Hordak, anyway? Had he taken Catra with him to Prime’s fleet? No directives had been given in the past couple of days, and the lack of order was beginning to wear on everyone.

Octavia huffed, and suddenly, it grew still. _R_ _eally_ still. She couldn’t even hear the generators or the lights in the hall. None of her soldiers appeared to notice. They placidly scanned from their vantage points for any signs of intrusion, as Horde Prime had instructed. All of the tech in the room had been long destroyed, since the guerilla invasion by that one pink Princess. Screens were blank, computers and mechanical equipment powerless, HVAC fans like the dead.

Right before her eye, a donut of dirt and debris rose out of the floor around the Black Garnet, bearing rebels into the room’s center. Her initial shock was replaced with a fiery one; the intruders held rectangles of plating like shields, what the escaped Horde soldiers had stolen from the supply last night.

“FIRE!” Octavia ordered, swinging her canon around.

Javelins flew out at the Horde soldiers from the rebels’ turtle formation. Some hit the broad side of their rifle blasters, others bounced off their armor, and one or two found chinks in the joints by their arms or hips. A handful of the Horde pressed in, throwing themselves on the shields and joining the fight. Octavia charged up her cannon for a volley. She cursed, remembering at the last that Prime had ordered not to harm the gemstone. Jamming the control stick down, the blast ripped into the floor just outside the ring. One of her squad flew back, prone, and didn’t move. One rebel knelt behind their shield, screaming in intervals as a pool of blood grew slowly beneath them. _Perfect, that’s probably a lost leg._

On ground level, Glimmer heard the missile and felt it rock her balance. She ducked and sought out its source. _They put a_ cannon _in here!?_ The young woman slanted around the gemstone, around Scorpia as she quickly recharged, and aimed for the operator. Frosta crossed in front, nearly tripping her as she gleefully yanked Horde blasters on their owners. Glimmer grunted with frustration and shot a blinding ball of light into the seat of the cannon. Its occupant screeched and turned aside. Around the rebels was chaos—the Horde hadn’t been resting on their butts during the time after Prime’s arrival. The palace guard was slowly constricting to a smaller circle, valiantly pushing back.

Adora knelt at the side of a guard with a fatal leg wound. She wrapped a tough strap of a black rubbery material above her knee, and used a discarded rod to twist it tighter. Standing behind, Bow covered them. His arrows kept the Horde hesitant, wary of his accuracy enough to watch him and ready a dodge instead of pressing the deceptive advantage. The warrior took up her sword and snatched the shield plating from where it had been dropped, then shouted to the guard’s partner.

“Get Frosta to send you back underground! We need Entrapta up here now!” she braced against a charging soldier.

The guard raced to comply. She handed her plating off to Bow, who quivered his weapon and transferred onto protection detail. He leapt to Adora’s side and kicked her attacker back. The floor rumbled, gyrating. Suddenly the Dryl Princess popped up and dove into her work, as if she had been born only to decipher out the gemstone, nothing more. _Maybe, just maybe…this plan will work._

“Down!” Scorpia yelled.

At the cue, the outer ring of rebels dropped to a knee. A thundering wave of electricity shrieked outward from her pincers, knocking their enemies flat on their backs. Two with rifles had the sense to duck and return fire. Scorpia blocked with her charged pincers, arm muscles bulging in absorption of a force unlike any physical attack. Her grin was malicious, her eyes crackling with power. She laughed.

“Ooooh yes, this is what I’ve waited for.”

“Remember what Lonnie said!” Adora barked.

The lightning floating about her body dimmed. But only slightly. The heir to Scorpion Hall used her pincers as shocking guns, firing blasts that dropped their opponents. They writhed and bucked; that and moaning staved off that most permanent of sleeps. Another palace guard fell with a burn mark on her breastplate. Two soldiers descended with batons, lit up with devastating energy arcs, ready to finish her. The guards flanking their fallen comrade stepped in to divert, which only left two slightly smaller gaps instead of a large one. Another soldier blind-sided the right guard with a stun baton, who then stumbled around, shaking their head, eventually collapsing to her knees.

“Noooo _oooo!”_

A deepening roar ushered Adora to their assistance. She left Bow to take her initial place and launched into a counterattack. Defensively, Frosta straddled the downed guard and filled her eyes with their haunting sliver sheen. In her peripheral vision, Adora saw a mist of white form around the small Princess’s hands, frosting like snow but wavering like a blizzard. Feinting a shield punch, Adora swung her sword hilt around into the soldier’s helmet. It cracked, and they staggered back. As the opposite palace guard shoved her own attacker backward, ice grew up instantaneously around their boots, anchoring the Horde soldiers to the current positions. Two panicked helmets turned downward, and their fruitless flailing began.

Up from her vantage, Octavia was rubbing the stars from her vision. The blurred surroundings came to, as she saw the Black Garnet slowly sinking into the floor. Entrapta stood by in concern, she saw, and moved her gloved hands tentatively, like a parent guarding their baby’s first steps. The one Catra had dubbed Sparkles looked from side to side, talking to the scientist while tracking any attacks from ground level. Octavia growled through her neck slits, a clacking sound like dry leaves, and switched tack to a precise shot. The missile wouldn’t be as large or powerful, but it would have double the velocity and accuracy. And there was the pink-haired queen that stood unawares.

“Entrapta, Scorpia: make sure the stone gets away safely. We’ll follow close behind when there’s a lull,” Gimmer projected over the din.

“Got it, short stuff!” Scorpia fired off another bolt, then hopped into the hole.

 _Why…oh why, does height have to be the focus?_ Glimmer sighed. _I can’t help it everyone else is a giant!_

“Frosta, get—”

“Queen Glimmer, watch out!”

A guard’s warning made her spin toward its origin. The rest was a splotch in her memory. She sensed the wide-open air above their cluster, her field of vision engulfed by green, then one of their makeshift shields blotting out all else. The blast reverberated around her, rippling through her ribcage, as it impacted. One eye closed in a grimace, Adora had her shield’s handle raised to level with her helmet, protecting them both. Light green haze blinked over her new armor, and Glimmer assumed the shot had landed on both body and shield.

“Whew…thanks,” she croaked out, throat dry.

Adora met her appreciative gaze. The corner of her mouth was turned up in her naturally earnest way, eyes flashing with an oath, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Her acknowledgement was as boundless and authentic as Glimmer had ever felt.

“My Queen.”

Before Glimmer could process, stave off her confusion, or do… _anything_ else beyond the stammering that Adora’s gestures typically delivered, Bow was there. He fired on a foolhardy soldier who thought to overrun the momentarily stunned queen. Glimmer stood up in no time, determination running off her like the heart of a monsoon, and threw another blast of magic up at Octavia. Stronger than the last, the Horde commander tipped out of her seat and disappeared with a scream. Glimmer didn’t want to listen for a thump. She heaved with her lungs, judging their new status.

“I think…I think we’re good for a stable retreat. Frosta?"

The girl looked over her shoulder, nodded, and thrust her hands upward. The ground sank and grew over them all, in the rolling motion of a tunnel wave. The rest of the palace guards filled the space with heavy breathing, arms slack at their sides. A pair of medics rushed in to tend injuries. The plethora of hands set to work, piling the shields together for transport and doling out bits of congratulations where they could. In the near dark, they found their damage report to be two guards needing litters. Three others would require help limping back, and a handful more would employ their spears as haphazard crutches.

Adora plucked off her helm and peered into the tunnel where Scorpia and Entrapta would be taking the Black Garnet back to Casayon.

“I’m not trying to sound dismissive,” she said, pulse settling down, “But this seemed a bit too easy. They didn’t have a single clone.”

Bow gripped his side and wrestled through a reply, “I don’t want to think you’re right…but you are. I…I didn’t see any either.”

“What would be worth more to Prime than protecting the Black Garnet?” Frosta asked. “Entrapta didn’t find anything of note in Hordak’s database thingy, right?”

Glimmer watched the rest of their company filter off, “No, not that she told us. I would think Prime would stop at nothing to prevent our taking this. Does he really not know?”

“Should we backtrack to somewhere else in the Fright Zone? Try to find where he went?” Frosta suggested.

“Maybe. Adora, where do you think—”

The warrior’s face was sheet white, rife with shock. Glimmer connected the dots almost as quickly, and fought down the despair that left her devastated.

“Casayon,” they whispered.

* * *

“Spinny, now!”

Spinnarella grunted, and twin twisters from her open palms vaulted into the enemy forces. They flattened several ranks of clones, the gap creating an opening for Netossa’s throw. Her net anchored on the northern obelisks and briefly reestablished a barrier. With abandon, the rebels swarmed the clones left inside their boundaries, not needing to worry about an exposed flank or rear. The superior armor plating they were up against was proving their enemy’s strength; it took longer than Netossa would have liked to dispatch them all, the effort tiring their troops besides. _But we’re still holding, by Bertani,_ she swore, and used another of her nets to pin down a lone squad of clones.

The Primes’ attack had surprised the camp as they received their last transmission from the group taking the Black Garnet. Three wide, dark metal platforms had swooped in like fowl crows with a host of clones riding their wings. Energy blasters disabled the northern most barrier section before they could raise it. Their own paltry counter of arrows and javelins was as effective against the clones as handfuls of sand trying to control a bonfire. Perfuma was proving invaluable in using the prairie grasses to snare their enemies’ feet, locking them in place. And combined with their tactic of separating and—

**_WHAM!_ **

Netossa’s bones shuddered—the obelisk between the other barrier shields cracked in half, losing both at once. The pieces tumbled down into a chorus of screams and fleeing rebels, while a foreign and horrific roar from the other side cast a shadow over her heart. She dashed off immediately and heard her wife over her shoulder.

“Can you—” Spinnarella started.

“Pretty soon…”

The footsteps tapered off, and a slightly less impressive tornado swept through the middle company. To clear her running path, Netossa threw left and right as she drew near, then took a leap, twisted back, and let fly. One end of her net latched onto the crumbled remnants of the base, so it sat lower than its intact partner to the north, like how a child would pull at a net to cheat at a game. At least now the clones would funnel in slowly, as opposed to being able to utilize their full strength of rank and file. Tossing ivory bangs from her vision, Netossa took a precious half moment to mentally thank their sorcerers. Even while some of them were pinned down by blanketing blaster fire, their barrage of spells were keeping the platforms at bay on the outskirts, instead of looming overhead.

“We gotta find something more to do. We can’t just hold ‘em forever.”

“Would Colonel Heran think of using the weapons brought by our Horde soldiers?” Spinnarella shouted, but then remarked to herself. “Never thought I’d live to say that.”

“She might. I’d have to find her. Was she at the southern barrier?”

“Been a long time since I’ve seen her. Any runners around?”

Netossa scanned the field to pick out the curly red hair and wiry pale body they were familiar with, “I don’t see Verdis. I might have to go myself.”

“Best go quick. We’ll need you back soon, love.”

“I think I can…”

She was glued to clones still throwing themselves over the low end of her net, slowly gaining a foothold in the center and creeping out. _If we could get our mages to support that, this would go a whole lot smoother,_ Netossa posited. Each platform hovered with a slight drift up and down, and supported about a dozen shooters each. The central one held a larger clump of clones, probably guarding Horde Prime.

“Hey Spinny…your windstorms can pull down flying objects, yeah?”

The woman followed Netossa’s line of sight toward the sky, and grinned as her hair and clothing lifted in drafts around her.

“I haven’t done anything that big yet…but given the _current_ situation, I’ll give it a shot.”

“…did you…did you just pun? In the middle of a battle?!”

“Whaaaat?” she feigned deafness, shouting. “I can’t hear you! On account of this windstorm! Weird, huh?”

“Ohhhh, don’t you d—”

“Still can’t hear you!”

With an irritated (and regrettably amused) grumble, she jogged off toward the rest of their army. The Princess wove and dodged between attacks and fight clusters. The smell of burning hair made her pick up her pace past a sorcerer, whiffs of body odor and musty fur stuffing themselves into her nose soon after. The Bright Moon native felt her adjustment to the plains: oppressive heat wringing out her endurance, kicked-up dust granules obscuring her vision. And despite the full sun, plus chastisement from her wife, she had continued wearing her steel bracers, chestplate, and sabatons: one could always find a way to be comfortable, but style was an endangered species.

Clearing the edge of their center platoon, Netossa slowed and poured more awareness into her search. There was Colonel Heran thirty feet out, stumbling back while sandwiched between two clones.

“Heran! Duck!”

She hurdled over a pile of scattered supplies and held her throw until the last second. Her net caught most of them, tumbling one into the other and over the prone commander. Heran’s head slammed into the ground as one of their feet crashed unforgivingly into her face. Netossa gasped, and rushed onward. She landed between them, scraping on her knees, just as the net broke apart and jabbed wrist knives up under their chins. The lights in their eyes went out. Her arms were getting _sore._ She wiped the clones’ weird synthetic blood from her weapons, and picked up Heran’s from where they were discarded nearby--a pair of two and a half foot wooden hafts topped with slightly curved dagger blades to opposite sides.

The Plumerian groaned, rubbing her elbow, testing it, “Thanks for that, but you need to be with your unit.”

Netossa held the reach knives out to as Heran stood, “Colonel, we need you to consider the weapons that the Horde brought. Our casters can’t just keep breaking even.”

“What?! No, not when we haven’t tested them. We still don’t know if they’re rigged as a trap.”

“ _We_ haven’t been tested either.”

“…that’s even less incentive.”

“Oh,” Netossa scratched her chin, “Right. Then…Spinny and I can take a squad. We’ll get Lonnie, Rogelio, and a couple others—that’s it. We can keep track of that many.”

“No. I won’t endanger us anymore than what we’re already dealing with.”

“Do you have a better idea!? We’re not going to be able to hold much longer! Even _with_ King Micah here!”

“Netossa, you are dangerously close to ignoring your position here…”

 _And don’t I know it._ But she nodded her acceptance, “With respect, commander, military command knows when to encourage new ideas.”

A cry rose up from the north, where the platform was careening backward into the hillside. Grey specks—what she assumed were the final clones aboard—moved to the edge and over, seemingly floating with how far away Heran and Netossa stood. Whoops and cheers rippled through the rebel lines. Rune circles and bolts of pink flame turned toward the middle group of clones, and their wavering infantry pressed closer.

“That was from Spinny?”

“Yyyup.”

“…all right, five soldiers _only_. Tell Sergeant Megofas to be your backup with your Horde squad. Their _sole_ job is to be the kill switch.”

Netossa’s eyes shot open wide, “Uh, yes ma’am.”

“I’m serious. We’re putting untested, enemy soldiers into a high stress situation. I trust Megofas’ judgment if anything starts to break up…but also to give it the chance we—”

The hair on the back of Netossa’s neck prickled. The colonel must have felt something as well—her arm ridges arching upward—but neither had a chance to react. Immediately as they heard a shout of warning, the world around them buzzed; they then found themselves standing behind a semi-circle of five clones, jumping out in ambush into their previous position. Netossa’s surprise lasted but a second, and she plunged her wristblades into the spot just behind their jaws. She heard the pounding of footsteps slowly solidifying as Heran spun and sliced open the necks of the two in front of her, her reach knives glimmering, fluid extensions of her arms. Netossa went for the last one, left oblique whining from previous exertions. An arrow beat her to it.

Adora, Bow, and a noticeable accompaniment of grime ran in, chests laboriously heaving. Scrutinizing eyes and aims swiveled for additional threats. Glimmer followed along, looking instead at her hands in unbridled surprise.

“Queen Glimmer! Did you teleport us? At distance!?” Heran asked, smiling in awe.

“I…I guess I did,” she grinned.

“We came as soon as we realized. Where do you need us?” Bow retrieved his arrow.

“Is the Black Garnet secure? Does anyone need a healer?” Heran questioned.

Attempting to scratch the dirt clear of her brow, Adora nodded once, “It’s still on its way back with Entrapta, Frosta, and Scorpia, plus the Bright Moon Guard. They should be fine.”

“You two head to the center, see if you can free up King Micah to pull off a heavy strike. Queen Glimmer, if you could get Netossa to the Horde contingent and back—”

Glimmer perked up, cutting off both the colonel’s explanation and Netossa’s stutter, “On it!”

“—we could…” Heran did a double take as they flashed out of her proximity. “Blazing droughts! Is she taking lessons from Princess Frosta?”

“Once she gets a direction, she’s pretty much gone,” Bow assented.

“Bow…we gotta hurry.”

Adora lifted her sword at what was now the northernmost platform as she began her run. They watched, horrified, as its mob of clones spilled onto the plain from fifty feet up without any repercussions, and cut a course straight through the rebels. Of the last two figures to touchdown, one’s hands crawled with lime green lightning, and the other boasted a massive cannon on its shoulder.

“That’s Catra,” Adora shouted.

“And Prime!” Bow added.

Tremors from the far off enemy charge picked at the pair, injecting confusion. Adora saw the clones already engaged with the rebel ranks rip and tear into them with a renewed frenzy. The enemy line split around the other half of the Bright Moon Guard at their center, sweeping away the defenders toward other parts of Casayon. _Why are they leaving their advantage?_ Adora puzzled. She and Bow hacked their way, bit by tiny bit, into the thick of it. Beyond the front ranks, the warrior noticed the uncertain guards peer out from behind their cover. Some stood up from a readied stance for a better vantage point.

Then the reserve mob of clones crashed in, a wretched typhoon on the unprotected guard.

“The king!” Adora bellowed and forged ahead. “They’re going for King Micah!”

The archer jumped back, knocking and drawing to his ear, and focused all he had on finding The Shot. A roiling mass of white heads separated him and Prime, each of which could deflect Bow’s last chance, his only hope. _C’mon, c’mon…stand up, you blasted cur…_ He felt the clearance coming, and like any archer who understood aiming with a lead, released a split second in advance. Before his arrow could make contact, though, it exploded into pieces as it flew between electrified claws. Catra was there, gloating directly at his failure.

“No!” he roared, anger morphing into a word.

Caught between rows of Etherians just as determined to throw off the clones, Adora felt panic beginning to turn her inner tide. She watched helplessly as Catra obliterated Bow’s strike, and her optimism with it. A telltale gasp came next, the sonic wind up before a Horde cannon would fire. Her feet were frantically surging onward when it hit.

Only an arrow’s flight away, in seemingly another world, King Micah stood dumbfounded behind his palace guards who floundered against the onslaught of clones. The acrid smell of chemical burned flesh cursed him like a treasonous noble caught inescapably in a monstrous lie. The flesh, the air, the sorrow and grief composing his being became foreign, unwanted.

There, on the dust-ridden and dry earth where his own body should now lay, was the fallen General Brizeus.

He knelt, willing a spell over her, and begged for her rigid hand to bear her spear once more. But the elf remained inert. Her life was a gift he could never give back. Micah’s rage erupted within, compounded without. Magenta rivers of fire streamed from him and sought out each and every clone as he screamed with fury. The howl deafened ear and mind. The entire camp shook at its foundation, and for miles around still. The magic licked up over their enemy and left behind husks, which evaporated into the sky. No celebration lifted the Rebellion to pursue the handful of stragglers. There was no rally that inspired them to take heart. Not a peaceful moment in thanks for their hard work and sacrifice. For most, it was widespread numbness, enervation. For a few, it was horror written there on their faces, the scrawling of a tangible nightmare. 

And for yet one more, it was a silent dash, as Adora sprang away from Bow’s grasp. Blocking out everything save for Prime, she barreled through the bystanders toward the retreating clones. _To the_ Fright Zone _with this! I’m not losing him a second time!_ She swore to herself. Distance from Micah’s magic had saved them from certain annihilation, but their armor plates had been reduced to a brittle honeycomb. The synthetic muscle underneath wept iridescent beads over scraping contours. Swiveling to meet her, the rear pair pounced on Adora. Her feet stumbled into their tangle, and she tripped under their bulk in a moment of pure, tired clumsiness. She stabbed and swung blindly, halting the effort only when her blades failed to make contact. They were down.

And she was up once more, or so her adrenaline fueled thighs told her. The blurry, white-gray clump ahead remained. There was a spotty whizz of deployed retraction cables, and further blinking plucked a solid form out of the chaos as she slowed her approach. Dusty gray spikes of hair, agile feminine figure, one whole pointed ear and the other torn, cracked plate pieces abandoning their host for the bent grass around her and a dozen clones.

Adora’s arm and shoulder fell into their rhythm and threw her dagger for Catra’s throat. The resultant dodge gave her space to set her feet, crouch into a barely balanced fighting stance.

“Oh, Adora, you are so…what’s the word I’m looking for…”

“Predictable?”

“Normally, I’d agree,” a grin of fangs, “This time though, I’m actually looking for…’dead.’ ”

Catra lashed out with a clawed hand, the same time as Horde Prime zipped up toward the platform’s underbelly on his cable. Adora centered her frantic thoughts, staring down green lighting and the glowing muzzle of a cannon.

Her stomach jerked backward and almost out of her body, and the ground she previously occupied exploded into a tiny crater. She now stood a dozen yards off, where Glimmer and Bow had stopped their own pursuit. Nearby ex-Horde soldiers blanketed the clones with blaster fire and dropped a few from hasty shots. Cackling maniacally, Catra’s hollow visage beckoned. _I can jump that,_ Adora thought, _if I get—_

Her arm wouldn’t budge, elbow anchored in a light but resolute hold: Glimmer’s.

“Please, Adora…stay.”

Reddening eyes captured, called to her. Adora pleaded wordlessly, furrowing her brow in desperation. A ragged whine, like an oak branch wrenched off in a storm, squeezed out from behind tight lips. She tried to shake off the growing mist around her eyes. Bow stepped up to complete their circle.

“We didn’t get Glimmer back just to trade you away. Stay with us.”

Defeated. Outmatched. Head hung. Glimmer’s hand released. Lonnie and her crew stilled.

Adora threw off her helmet, blonde braid whipping behind. The jolt of chilling sweat restored an ounce of energy. It was not the cry that could reinstate awe, nor the shining weapon that could instill cowards with valor. Nonetheless, those at Adora’s back witnessed the power and presence of Eternian legend as she launched it at her escaping quarry.

“You will _not_ take Etheria from us, Prime!...I will end you!” she yelled. “You have my Word!”

A disembodied laugh reached her ears.

“Big words! …for such a small woman. I look forward to killing you.”

It was only by fortitude wrought from hate that Adora stood upright.

* * *

Glimmer found her father conscious but mostly delirious, as the survivors gathered together. A rough flame-like tinge crept in on his pupils’ edges, on the tips of his hair and beard. Other sorcerers assured her it was only temporary on account of his massive, involuntary energy expenditure. Promising to send immediate word to Mystacor for assistance, the head healer Oran recommended they return to the palace right away. The rest of their countrymen’s bodies would be sent after they were counted. Two of Brizeus’ commanders took charge as compassionately and as firmly as possible.

Details of the journey back were as formless as the first face she remembered as a child. The demands of the retrieval mission, the stress of battle, her newfound ability, and generalized worry lifted from the queen’s senses when they were almost to Bright Moon. Bow’s warmth beside her registered first, juxtaposed with the cool air whipping over the bow at speed. Her father was asleep on his stretcher, a diligent watch of his most senior guards nearby, pale and tired. Adora spoke with the rest of the palace guard over the constant wind. The skiff was barren, and flew on without its partner.

Glimmer started, “Wait, where are—“

“Scorpia is taking the Black Garnet to northern Salineas with Entrapta. They’ll keep it hidden there ‘til we know where to make its new home,” Bow interrupted.

“But what about—”

“Frosta’s helping shore up Casayon. She can repair structural damage and keep a leash on the Horde…errr, ex-Horde. The colonel has a pack of plains riders at her call to bring her back to her kingdom when she need a refresh.”

“…ok, what’s—”

“Perfuma said she’d work with our forces to figure out a useful medium between us and the soldiers.”

“No, I meant—”

“They’ll all be back at the palace tonight when we…send the general a-and the others off.”

Glimmer quieted, shrinking into the skiff’s deck wall.

“Not until peak Bertani?” she mumbled.

He gently let go a sigh, “Yeah.”

The young woman eyed the long, blanket-encased form beside her dad’s, currents gifting it a meager sign of physicality as they rustled the lifeless, apathetic cloth. Brizeus’ reprimands were gone. Her razor eyebrows wouldn’t judge Glimmer’s harebrained schemes. Her encouragement wouldn’t be cleverly smuggled into her harsh observations. _And what of the other rebels who died today,_ Queen _Glimmer?_ She sneered inwardly. _Were you thinking about their cost when you woke this morning? As you tuned out your dad? As you joked with Adora? Whose death has to follow Brizeus in order to get your head on straight?_

“How do we get her to listen?”

Bow was half elsewhere, “Hmmm?”

“Adora could’ve died twice today, once from being blinded by the chance to kill Prime.”

He gauged their friend sorrowfully, as she leaned on the rail and awaited the skiff’s complete stop, “Good luck. We’ve been trying anything to break through to her. Perfuma did for a bit, possibly.”

“When she heals her Sword, she’ll be right back at it. She won’t stop to think about what the Primes throw at her.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Several palace healers met them upon arrival and hurried both the king’s and general’s carriers away. Glimmer would have to be the bearer of news to Brizeus’ family—yet another task that staggered her trembling legs as she stepped off onto solid ground. Bow made for the staff wing to update records and touch base with the other outposts with tracker pads. The very exemplar of dedication, Captain Terila corralled her guards off for a debriefing. Everybody instinctually knew their place. Glimmer jogged to catch up with Adora’s determined strides taking her into the residential wing.

“Hey, wait up,” she nudged.

The blonde’s reply held an unsure delay, the rest of their exchanges halting.

“Yeah, Glim?”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh, right. From this morning?” Adora recalled.

“Yeah, and in general.”

“Okay…where abouts?”

The acquiescence caught her unexpectedly, her chest flushing with tingly relief, “Oh! Uh…your room is fine, or mine. Or if you don’t want to sit…”

“No no, I’m good. I’ll uh…gimme a bit to get all this dirt off, and I’ll come find you.”

“Sure. Can I get you anything? Like food or—”

“No, thanks. I keep a small stash in my room nowadays. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“But do you—”

**_Click._ **

She blinked. Adora had closed the door on Glimmer’s next question. Was she honestly that rushed to get clean? Dubious amethyst eyes narrowed. _A battle-hardened soldier? No way._ Her stubborn friend’s rare show of compliance had pulled the wool over her eyes—she had completely missed the over-eager brush off.

The queen teleported into a set of orderly, simple quarters. It was bare of decoration: one set of folded clothes on the dresser, the pair of empty wall hangers for her weapons, and true enough, a plate of hearty bread and whole fruits near the bookcase. But no Adora. _Is she already in the waterfall pool?_

“Ador—”

“ _Shades_ , Glimmer!”

She jumped at the interruption. Adora, who had been slumped right beside where Glimmer had last seen her, pushed sluggishly away the doorframe.

“I said I’d come find you.”

“This can’t wait, Adora. You keep dismissing us.”

“When have I ever gone back on a promise?”

Gimmer shot her hand out, pointing toward the hall, “You were about to. _Right. There._ ”

“I said I just needed—”

“I heard what you _said_ , but what did you really mean? How ‘bout ‘if I say this, they’ll think—”

“Glim…”

“—I’m gonna do something about it, and I can—’ ”

“Glimmer, _blast it!_ Stop!”

Glimmer heard the manacles of exhaustion clapped on Adora’s tone, stripes of rawness between strained syllables. The heel of Adora’s hand pressed to her forehead, the last support bracing a crumbling wall.

“You’re right.”

“…about?”

“I can’t…I-I can’t…"

She stumbled forward, the dead weight of the warrior's mask finally collapsed, and Glimmer was her landing. The sudden impact plunged Gimmer’s sore muscles into her friend’s stark, overwhelmed surrender. She propped Adora up, scraping out bits of spirit and strength from the lonely corners of her stores.

“Adora…” she cooed, voice rich and despondent, “Adora, what’s wrong?”

The young woman shifted feebly in an attempt to respond and regain composure.

“Please…I can...”

Glimmer managed to get the limping, swiftly fading body over to the bed and set on its edge. Luckily Adora kept her torso upright as Glimmer unstrapped the armor, but her eyelids drooped every other second. She helped her lay back to the pillow, then removed the last pieces as Adora’s limbs flopped uselessly.

“Yes, _clearly_ you can handle this,” Glimmer chided.

“You don’t have to…”

“Stop, Adora. Rest,” she knelt at the bedside. “You need a pause. I’ll be right here to make sure you do.”

“You…sure?” Adora checked, a single blue orb peering up.

Glimmer rolled her eyes, “ _Yes!_ …yes I’m sure...”

Adora’s cheek was squished sideways into her pillow, scratchy breathing oddly hypnotizing in cadence. The splay of arms and legs looked uncomfortable, yet natural all the same. Glimmer's worry that had clogged the room all at once deflated. The peace surrounding them was like the aftermath of a monumental realization, what needed processing and regrounding. Squeezing her shoulder, Glimmer slid down to her vigil on the floor and backed up against the bed frame. She pushed back further into her mind her long list of things to do: her father to check on, messages to compose, orders to weigh, damage to assess. The chittering sparrows of her insecurities hopped in a wandering pattern, poking around for seeds of doubt. A passable queen would ask a healer to stand in.

With fondness, Glimmer cherished the rest that claimed her friend, the undertow that dragged her down. At least she and Adora had made it to this step (albeit a shaky one) just in time. Maybe this cool, untwisting knot would be enough progress for now. _Duties be damned. H_ _ere..._ here _is where I belong,_ Glimmer shook her head. Not known from a gut feeling, but a dedication to their bond, a yearn to see it right. She sighed--frustrated, resigned, but undoubtedly charmed.

_Even when it means saving you from yourself…you big, dumb hero._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check is the term in chess for when your king (the most important piece, whose capture ends the game) is threatened. Your next move is forced to take your king out of that threatened position, sometimes by whatever means possible--moving the king, blocking the attack with another piece, sacrificing another, a counter check move, etc.
> 
> Wow, I hadn't realized the last update was end of June. My day job has started up again thankfully, though we're a cultural nonprofit, so I can only hope we stay around for as long as possible. We're tied closely to the schools; if they don't start up again except virtually in the fall, that means dire straits for us.
> 
> I struggled through parts of the battle in Casayon. Many times I went back to it but felt I was throwing words on a page for the heck of it, not doing anything meaningful for the story. And the ending scene was one I wanted to get as perfect as possible, something I also went back to or ran over in my head often, for opposite reasons of the battle scene. Many of the visuals I can see clearly in my head, so if you find something particularly confusing or spot on, I'm all ears. Hitting my mark for conveying images is most assuredly a primary goal.
> 
> (Season 5 spoilers ahead) Finally finished season 5! Not much happened beyond what what I expected, even with the spoilers I knew. I'll say first that I fully understand where Stevenson was coming from. Friends to enemies to girlfriends is intriguing--I just would've liked better overall pacing, which I realize is partially because I'm firmly in the Glimmadora camp. They /hella/ built up Glimmer and Adora, and not enough Glimbow and Catradora until the end. If there was less Glimmadora throughout to lead me on, I probably would be Catradora, and they indeed had regrettably cute moments--like Easter eggs when they were in awe of each other without the other's notice, and the angle of the scene was shoving the audience's attention elsewhere so that you wouldn't see it unless you exactly looked for it.
> 
> PS If anyone can point me in the direction of a Glimmadora artist willing to take commission, I'm all ears. I can't find anything but rudimentary things that are obviously copied and pasted. Given admirable talent, I'm willing to pay a bunch.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	12. Castling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5, with no alterations to the events in seasons 1-4.

She was on her back, looking up into a mess of cables, wires, and ducts. The taste of stale, sweaty air cycling through outdated filters coated her lungs, made her squirm. _The Fright Zone. Never could escape this place, I guess_ , she assessed. Dexterous digits of other clones picked at her arm, not-arm, chest, and not-face. They were swapping out sections of the fine fiber tubing that was now her left side, refilling her levels of biofluid, attaching new plating, and dumping the discarded waste into a shredder. Whirring cogs crushed and tore, and spat out a raw material into a bin to be reformed into the next generation of tech. She lightly wondered if they had done that with the lost parts of her body, teasing at the idea as if an afterthought, but not delving any further.

Off to the side, Catra could make out Horde Prime sitting in a wide chair with square lines and a multi-spined back. Tubing ran from the spines into two connectors at the back of his head disguised as dreadlocks, faintly glowing eels feebly wriggling. His repair work, with supplies from a secured container tucked away in one of the drop ships, had been executed immediately upon their return. Buffed and polished to a shine. Prime had barely moved since, enamored with the digital map of Etheria flickering in and out on Hordak’s old database display. A pair of clone guards stood at ease behind him, one periodically glancing to her status. _Right, like I’d be stupid enough to try assassinating him feeling like this._

“How long before the inventory of all Etherian resources is complete?” he demanded.

“Two bases nearest the Crimson Waste need to report in still,” Catra sat up, steadying herself on the cold edge of the surgical table. “Probably a couple hours.”

“You’re to plan an assault on their…Plumeria…ugh. Scorpia, Fright Zone, Bright Moon, Glimmer. Who names things on your planet, a child? Or a drunk?” Prime scoffed.

“What’s the difference, again?”

“No matter—all changes have their time,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “What would your plan be?”

 _A waste of perfectly good sarcasm._ “What’s the goal for invading Plumeria?”

“Devastation. We want them to sink their troops and equipment there, what little they have. That will put their Rebellion off balance.”

A part of her—far back in the dingy, alien recesses of her mind—wanted to bust up laughing at ‘troops’ in reference to the Rebellion. Same as smirking when she heard Sparkles referred to as a ‘commander,’ or whenever their late general shouted orders. She felt the tightening press of a pre-laugh on the underside of her ribs, but Catra let it hang sans cackle. She watched it, apathetic, and like a cadet training lesson she couldn’t care to comprehend, it floated past.

“Damage is my specialty. Are we taking prisoners?”

“Only if they have worth. I don’t expect them to, however.”

“Do I have strictly soldiers or clones too?”

“You have only the Horde at your command. I see no reason to bless you with more expensive weapons before you prove yourself.”

 _Oh, it’s a blessing, is it?_ At last, he swiveled the chair to face Catra. This was not Shadow Weaver and her volatile, easily ignitable rage. This was not the brutal, merciless Hordak. Prime was a universal force, somehow contained in a body with limbs and a head. Each detached blink of his four eyes, the downturn of his mouth, every task of every strategy had a purpose. She began to see it all laid out before her. The putrid brown-green horizon had purpose. The ship graveyard and its slowly encroaching scum had purpose. The achingly monotonous existence of a military force had purpose.

 _I have purpose._ And the thought stayed…so that must mean it was right.

“Plumerians are generally pacifists. We had one run-in with them where they trounced us, but our scouts kept tabs on them ever since, and they’ve only pulled back. They only contribute something like fifteen to seventeen percent of the Rebellion. A standard barrage from our tanks with complementing infantry pressure should be all we need,” she laid out.

“What about these Princesses? How do you handle them?”

There was a new process in her brain, a fuzz scratching the underside and demanding Catra’s attention to quell it. She wanted to pause to formulate, consider more responses and look at the rest of her strategy, but this pulsing itch wouldn’t let her. It _insisted_ this was more important. The thought hurriedly launched itself as if it had been slapped out of her mental war room as a single word.

“I’ll need to separate them somehow. I’ll put a squad on each, plus a tank once they’ve concentrated on the settlement for a while. Entrapta had been training some assistants or adepts before she…before she left. I believe they’ve developed a mobile weapon that’s a hybrid of the shield plating and our stun batons.”

The itch was gone. The fuzz receded. She shook her head anyway, trying to bring it back, but it stayed hidden. If Prime had noticed her struggle, he didn’t show it.

“The Force Captain in charge of the gemstone chamber reported a power of one of these Princesses you hadn’t mentioned before,” he drew out the assessment. “Their squad rose up from underneath the floor on dirt, like one of them could control the ground.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Maybe they had one of those snotty sorcerers with them. Or Octavia had something in her eye.”

“Their sorcerers weren’t present. Reports show it to be the small one that wears blue.”

“Frosty Flake? That makes _less_ sense. Maybe it was really dirty snow.”

“The reports are accurate,” Prime’s voice took on a loping, dangerous edge. “You need to consider that these Etherians are tapping into the Heart. How could they do that?”

“Like _I_ know anything. I gave you what I could about magic. Our soldiers were never told to get involved with it, just to fight it. ‘Sides, how do you know what Octavia saw? You just have her word for it.”

Horde Prime’s head tilted the slightest of degrees, a tick displaying curiosity that might go unnoticed to all but a magicat. She ran back over what she said. Yes, Hordak and Shadow Weaver always did their research and experiments in private. Orders came from the Force Captains, and even when she had been promoted, any additional background information she garnered had been after intricate scheming, nights teeming with paranoia over whether she’d be found out. Catra supposed Shadow Weaver could have some sort of knowledge about how a power source as large as the Heart could work, but she hadn’t shared anything of the sort to Prime. _What is he thinking? Did he remember something from Octavia’s acc—_

A fuzziness scratched the underside of her brain. Horde Prime’s head tilted the slightest of degrees, as if to press the Play button on a recording.

“Like _I_ know anything. Maybe they’ll trip up when they come to save Plumeria.”

“See that they do, _captain._ ”

And again, the idea of taking offense at his condescending tone sailed past without purchase.

“How long do I keep up the assault?”

“Until it no longer benefits me.”

“And how will I know that?”

Prime smiled, “You’ll know.”

As she stood up on her own, flesh and tech remaking the connection in her conscious body, there came a scuttling knock and muffled hail from beyond the door.

“Uh, Horde Prime, sir? I have…I have the personnel count and inventories fr-from—”

Catra punched the panel to open the door, its upper and lower halves retracting to open a wide, gaping maw. It revealed a scrawny blonde soldier, datapad gripped tight in whitened knuckles. His face was still riddled with burn marks and bruising from trying to stop the defected Horde soldiers. _And_ he _was one of the ones that fainted first…Princesses, Kyle was always so pathetic_ , she cursed in disgust.

“C-catra, I—”

Deaf to his yelp, she snatched the pad and pivoted toward Prime, scanning over the information.

“Four hundred more troops, some tanks, a dozen…Yushinas? What’s a yushi…” she puzzled out, tapping the word to bring up an image, “Ships? Cripes! We had blasted _ships_ and Hordak never used them?!”

Prime laughed. _Laughed! I rotted here FOR YEARS trying to end this—_

“Well, it appears you have some more tools at your disposal. Better get to work, eh captain?”

Catra scanned over the information, “I will. When do I...”

Insistent dinging cut her off. A single pixel on Prime’s map blinked to its rhythm. Reaching forward to mute the noise, he hummed appreciatively as she crept up behind him. Normally her ears would’ve flattened, but no distrust came.

“What’s happening in Salineas?” she questioned.

“A tool of my own. You have my orders, captain. Get to it.”

And yet another set of feet, armed with secrets and sights, padded silently away from the open door.

* * *

The night was all wrong. The mild, dry temperature soothed the crowd lingering upon the lakeshore. Air currents trilled along flowing hair and tails strung with crystal beads, teasing single strands but not enough to misplace them. Bertani, half-full, was almost at its zenith. The smaller waxing Griss peeked over the eastern mountains, and together they gathered the skyfire of the stars. Clouds bid their farewells hours ago, and bowed out to the umbrella of the night, now with a gray sheen brushed over the darkest corners thanks to the lunar painters.

This was the masterpiece whose wonder Glimmer fought against: to keep her depression alive, to curl her tired hands around an ache being peeled away. Dotted across the level, grassy cushion of this edge of the palace grounds were biers, which offered up Bright Moon’s fallen as focal points for the pooling regret and sorrow. Etheria provided enough light to forego torches or lanterns this night. She smoothed the newly dug crevices and whiter hairs into Micah’s form, like melding the lines of a potter’s coil. Her people shifted and reached for closeness, for a pulse felt in a held hand, for warmth in skin—sensations not yet stolen. The king spoke thinly, like a strong wind through cattails.

“These beloved of Bright Moon…will no longer dance on these shores. Their laughter will no longer raise our spirits. Their hands will no longer create. Their minds will no longer dream. All of what they were will never be again.”

Bright Moon’s memorial ceremony, regrettably more developed since the start of the Rebellion, was largely silent. From out of the sea of attendees—palace inhabitants and staff, the Rebellion’s War Council, citizens from all corners of the kingdom—lines of people grew and wove toward the dead. There they would give a brief gesture of goodbye, and take a token from the collection laid out on the bier by the departed’s family. Glimmer’s father sidled up on her right as they flowed with the mourners toward Brizeus. Never in her life had she wanted to cry more than now, but the scene was sharp and clear, her cheeks dry as bone.

_Adora was awake, cleaned, and put back together when Glimmer returned from her preparations. Their people dressed down for ceremonies, but not so for royalty, so on her robe, circlet, and accoutrement went. Surprisingly, her rose pink locks were cooperative tonight, falling with an effortless grace to the soft alabaster silk on her shoulders. Her friend bore a simple, natural linen tunic over wash black pants that stretched down to bare feet, and looked anything but comfortable. She was swimming in the deep of her own thoughts, rubbing her thumb pad into her palm distractedly. Like a mother doe easing into a new sleeping thicket, Glimmer settled beside her._

_“How do you feel?”_

_The answer came after a lightning quick glance at her regalia, “Less tired, I guess. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”_

_“Like what, exhausted?”_

_“Weak.”_

_She puffed out her lips before exhaling, “Y’know…I’ve been wishing for years to understand why you think weakness is bad. Don’t you remember the fiasco at Dryl? When met Entrapta for the first time? You were drugged and_...weak _…for like an entire day.”_

_Adora clapped her hands to her face, “Ah wamma forged id.”_

_“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Glimmer chuckled and bumped her shoulder. “And we helped you through that, right?”_

_“Yeah,” she combed over her scalp and down her ponytail, “But my whole mess isn’t what you need right now.”_

_Glimmer craned backward, “What_ I _need?”_

Brizeus’ face looked a deep blue-black to Glimmer. Next to the ivory of her dress uniform, she was one with the dark, peaceful features hardly distinguishable from a Bright Moon night. _As she would have wanted to be_. Her well-worn practice spear lay on the far side. Refined hands were folded over her stomach. A time-loved leather belt, burring and cracked near the holes, wrapped round her waist.

The young woman looked over the bits of the elf’s life and history guarding the edge of her final resting place. She picked out a horsehair bracelet, square braided with a silver clasp, from it all. Her fingertips pricked a couple of broken spiny strands, and she stepped aside. Glimmer and her father would stand with Brizeus’ husband Jindra, and her sons Corvis and Jai, until all the visitors were through. She saw Adora and Bow approach and grasp the strong forearm one last time. He plucked a feather from a meager pile, she a chunky stone, and continued on.

The queen startled at a touch on her hand—the young Corvis pulled on it, eyes glistening, sobs blubbering. A chasm in her heart opened wide for him; she draped her robe about his shoulders and smoothed over his back in circles with a familiar empathy. This would be the first of many nights for him, where he would cling tightly to the tides of his guilt: the knowledge that he’d wake up tomorrow to birdsong and breakfast, when his mom couldn’t.

_“W-what all of you need, I mean. The Rebellion, the Princess Alliance. Who wants to trust the fighter who can’t handle a measly test of endurance?”_

_“Measly? Psssh, not from what Bow tells me. And why do you think you can always perform at top notch?”_

_She muttered, “I used to be able to.”_

_“Sure, and how’d_ that _work out? What else did the Horde give you?”_

 _Glimmer’s snark triggered a backlash, Adora heatedly snapping her head around. What hit her from that response, oddly, was a glow in the blonde’s eyes, a ghost of awe. A web of anger lifted, and Adora’s expression opened back up as her fire was stolen._ Oh how the Mighty fall before my ‘One Eyebrow Thing,’ _Glimmer noted_.

_“I guess it didn’t,” she half-whispered._

_“No one’s perfect, Adora. That’s why we complement each other. If we know where others need help—where_ you _need help—we can step up. It’s in the Best Friend Squad contract.”_

_“…that exists?”_

_“Maybe. Bow would never lie to me, right?”_

_They passed a chuckle back and forth, relishing it for half a minute._

_“But,” Adora asked distantly, “How will you step up for She-Ra? If_ she _falters?”_

_“By falter, do you mean my best friend goes and gets herself killed?”_

_Adora had winced, her already bent form deflating further, in a rare flinch that internally left Glimmer chilled. Sunset had forsaken the room by that point: no more beautiful orange hue to bridge this fresh chasm between them._

_“There’s always going to be risk, Glimmer. I can’t expect anyone to put their life on the line if I won’t do it myself.”_

_“Oh you’ve got to be…Adora, when have you_ not _put yourself on the line? Whoever says differently is blind!”_

 _But her building aggravation reconstructed their last heated argument, what she had meant to talk to her about originally._ It was me. I told her she wasn’t good enough...I _shouted_ it at her, _was Glimmer’s next gut-wrenching thought. The memories strung together like cloth strips layering over and constricting her chest, twisted tight with the sound of her words spearing Adora right through her breaking heart. Quickly the queen slipped onto the floor in front of her friend. She lightly tugged them closer by the back of Adora’s calves, molding them together like a masterfully carved statue. There was a wild wonder alighting the space between them, a flush in Adora’s cheeks, but she couldn’t turn back._

Her countrymen folded back into a single clay body, awaiting a form from practiced hands. Midnight stirred, spinning, as several pale robed sorcerers stepped forward. What normally was an honor only for the reigning monarch would be shared by many more hands now, what with Micah’s injuries. They composed delicate sigils of violet-pink light, arcs and diamonds coalescing from nothing. From their gentle ministrations came streams of swirling chartreuse and mint that rose off the dead like liquid smoke out of a jar. Sometimes jets of cyan or shimmering gold snuck out if one knew where to watch for them. A song began, far down the front line, and coasted over the shallow inlet lake. The voice was foreign to Glimmer, but she knew the mournful words and melody. It met every octave with sweet assuredness, drew out each note where strength was to be found.

This was the time to say goodbye to the departed, tell them in heart and mind what the mourners needed to before the physical bodies dissolved back into Etheria’s essence. Glimmer had always wondered at the purpose of this part of the ceremony; a stone of shame lodged in her throat at the unfeeling thought. She offered up a quick comment to her mom at least every other day, as if she could catch her up on her life—sometimes more often when struggles were too much to bear alone. Some of the guards did the same, in promises to parents or questions for siblings. The prior evening, Glimmer had been reminiscing with the palace healers about how she had tortured her elderly nurse growing up, by getting into one accident or another with Bow (strangely without breaking one bone). Their dead were never really gone, so why was _now_ the time to give them their last thoughts?

Humming grew up around her: her people knew the song, too. _How could they not? After all this fighting? How can I stop this from happening again?_ Glimmer felt herself start to shake. Her father’s arms wavered. She should be out there next to him, sharing this burden, but after Angella sacrificed herself to the portal, everything happened so fast—she never had the chance. Aunt Casta had stepped in for her mom’s ceremony (as a formality, since there was no body), and then there was running the Rebellion on her own, and quarrels in the Princess Alliance, and the Horde’s resurgence, and… _and and AND!_ She berated herself.

 _“I am so_ , so _sorry for blaming you over my mom…and I can never apologize enough for it. I lashed out,” she began evenly paced, then words started flopping out. “I was so_ angry _that Double Trouble tricked me, a-and Salineas fell, the boys were missing, no one…and I wasn’t a good leader. It felt like we were losing everything because of me…but I took it out on you.”_

_She dropped her forehead on Adora’s knees with a dull **thunk**. Glimmer closed her eyes and remembered the time before, that oppressive, dark feeling—sinking, drowning, a lake’s surface getting farther and farther above her. The small rest from the current day had done little to settle her overspent nerves. Anticipating the next confession, tremors seized her forearms and drove her into a choking swamp of guilt._

_“Then I almost destroyed us all with the Heart of Etheria. The Princesses, the magic, the planet. You and the others were left to clean up after my mistakes, pushing yourself like this, and come get me besides,” Glimmer sighed. “It doesn’t matter. These are all just…excuses. I don’t feel right even thinking about asking your forgiveness.”_

And sliding in under the mantle of her robe was Adora’s hand, fingers firmly intertwining with hers, squeezing out doubt like a sponge. Adora stood, the stalwart pillar supporting the Moonstone’s cradle, the giant oaks sheltering the Whispering Woods, lending resolve in her closeness. Hopeful tears started their trek down Glimmer’s cheeks. That Adora had been the one to reach out to _her_ : the balm in her touch spread over the bruising of the past two draining days. Healing was on their horizon, the marks would soon fade into yesterday. Before them, the bodies and the released magicks petered out, disappearing into the new cloud slivers and stars and pristine atmosphere. Adora just held on tighter, closer, if either was possible.

_“I’ve already forgiven you the fight, Glim…and you only used the Heart because you thought it’d help us. I can’t hold that against you…any more than my own mistakes, and I think you’ve learned to let us all in on big decisions like that, right?”_

_Glimmer nodded, relieved. She felt the soothing words run over her, chasing aches out of her back and shoulders. Adora spoke in tune with the evening’s mood, calm and low._

_“I think all that’s left…is that you forgive yourself.”_

Cold fear consumed her at the thought of that eventuality.

* * *

In the heavy quiet of one of the garden’s plazas, Bow ticked away at his data pad. Adora sat next to him, elbows on bent up knees with Glimmer dozing against her shoulder, and stared up into the vast, empty star strewn sky. Even long after the memorial, and the mourners dispersed back to their homes, the mortal void within stole most words away. He and Adora had shared but a few on the walk back to the palace. The braziers at the top of the stairs, flames brashly hissing against the the night’s creeping depression, were a small comfort. Even the Throne Room, lit up like a warm beacon, seemed dull, lifeless, and that he had always pictured like a glowing doorway calling children in from evening forest games. The pall was there at every turn. When he had met the shining eyes of a new palace guard recruit, all he could see was futility—another youth ready to serve, a faun ready to die. That was when he knew sleep would be a long time coming. Bow could get lost in crazy theories and impossible plans on the digital screen, and forget all the roads leading to memories of people they had lost today.

Thankfully, Adora and Glimmer hadn’t needed a verbal request to know to join him. As three ghosts, they gathered cloaks and tea and tucked themselves into a corner of the Moon Gardens. Slowly and ever so unsteadily, the lilting scents of creshens and sweet ash lilies drew them back to the world. Greenery turned indigo with shadows curtained them away from the march of time, where they could recover and reset proper roots. Late night treks back from his fathers’ library came to mind. The absolute stillness of the woods had frightened him at first, when a faint rustle or twig snap set a boulder of paranoia into rolling down a hill. In time, he learned to wear the night comfortably, to sink into curiosity of the unknown. But now, here, the unknown of the future was horrid, an avalanche balanced on a melting shelf of ice.

“Do you think we’ll see the end of this?”

Bow spoke unprompted, and Adora noticed he was still engrossed in the screen’s glow. There was no doubt what he meant by ‘this’; the prison bars forged by the memorial made sure of that.

“One way or another.”

More tapping. More fragile persistence. More heartbeats.

“Whoever decided that winning a battle means you kill more of the other guys was an idiot,” Bow said.

“Yeah, I’d have to agree with you.”

“That was from Perfuma, actually. Last night.”

“Still agree with her,” Adora’s thoughts of Brizeus’ body sharpened her emphasis briefly. “How was she after the battle?”

“Spent, out of sorts. I think she’s still struggling with being violent.”

“I can’t imagine it’s easy for her. It’s sometimes like…she’s afraid of being strong.”

“Whoa there, friend. I know you’re from the Horde and all, but combat isn’t a strength to everybody.”

“No, no, not that. I mean…mmm, committed. Be strong _in_ something.”

“Ah…yeah, that fits.”

Pausing his methodical movements, Bow looked down a pathway at the opposite end of the square. The wide leaves of the eerily beautiful oar sconces stretched over their edging. Over the generations, the people of Bright Moon had developed uncanny eyesight for low light situations, but even the archer couldn’t pick out where the garden ended and the trail began.

“How do you think we’re doing?”

Finality laced his next question. Its undertone connected his words to a feeble note of hope. Adora remembered the long trek up the multi-tiered sandstone steps in the hillside, coming up from the lakeshore. They had an oddly picturesque simplicity for all the complexity incurred from their environment, all the factors the masons had to consider.

“A couple days ago, I would’ve given one of these pep talks I’m supposedly famous for, inspire both of us to think up wild but possible strategies. It wouldn’t have been ‘til later that you’d realize I didn’t answer your question, but by then, you’d be falling asleep, and hopefully wouldn’t remember the next day.”

“That’s cra…yeah, that about sums it up…you sure you haven’t done that to me already?”

She smirked, her first facial change since the talk with Glimmer. Thinking of it shot her through with a breathtaking shiver. _By the whole_ universe _of stars, she was...regal._ But the word in her thoughts sounded far duller compared to the litany of stirring memories within when their eyes had met. How much they had grown, fought, worried, cried since meeting in the Whispering Woods—focused to a single point in Glimmer’s caring reproach. Adora reflexively rubbed the growing blush on her shoulder (the one currently unoccupied).

“I think General Brizeus was right. We should’ve been planning more instead of getting the kingdoms back to a ‘Horde Isn’t Here’ normal. But…there’s no way to go back now, and I think our best bet is to keep hacking away at the Heart’s return.”

The screen reclaimed him, and his whisper had a barely perceptible humor like the invisible slipperiness on a frog, “As the most active member of Advocates for Sword Safety, I have to disagree with the use of ‘hacking.’ ”

“Of course you would,” Adora shook her head in a knowing surrender.

“You’re on the advocacy’s watch list, by the way. First position two years running.”

“Uh huh.”

“This is a most serious matter. Do you realize—stop laughing—realize what another year could mean? You’ve your reputation to think about.”

“Sure. It also means three years of you not realizing the group’s initials are ASS.”

The oversight hit him like Swift Wind careening through a dance number. Bow raised a look to his friend, widening his eyes to convey both ‘How could you be so heartless?!’ and ‘Please help me fix this.’ Her chin, however, was pointed resolutely skyward and flaunted her smug smirk.

“Note to self: work on new name…honestly, though…I appreciate your confidence, for the whole Heart’s return thing. It, uh…helps me more than you know.”

“You’re welcome.”

When the banter caused a drowsy Glimmer to shift, her Eternian pillow took the opportunity to arch her sore back and guide Glimmer’s head down to her lap. Adora changed position to lean back on her hands, elongating her spine. Her left arm slotted in behind Bow, connecting the Best Friend Squad as if by a tentative hug—where any more contact would topple her house of cards.

“Do you think you’ll take the Sword to Mystacor soon? Or are you going to try and heal it fully first?” he asked.

“Heal it. Getting She-Ra back online is top priority.”

“Do you want someone with you?”

“Nah, I should be okay by myself.”

“I can recall some vivid details where that was not the case. With witnesses.”

“I get it, I get it,” Adora begrudgingly agreed, nodding toward the sleeper. “This one already gave me the ‘we support each other’ talk. And I promise to do more of that, but not with this.”

 _They already talked? And Adora listened? Shades that girl is_ good _!_ A frosting of moonlight outlined his friend—eyes canted downward, sketched shoulder lines, a relaxed curve to her chest, subtleties composing Adora’s architecture. The loose back of her tunic faded into a mirage of her once billowing cape, the illuminated wisps by her temples the wings of her headpiece. Her doors were beginning to unlock. She hadn’t built them with a handle that Bow could use, so he simply pushed out a ‘Mmm’ of understanding, and watched.

“She-Ra’s all I have left of my past, my family. Especially now that Eternia’s…g-gone. I want to make sure there’s a part of her that I don’t have to share with anyone, if that makes sense. Like, I know I’m not her, but I _know_ she’s part of me. And…I’m accountable for breaking the Sword, for cutting her off. So, healing it,” she breathed deeply, “That’s my responsibility.”

“If there’s at absolute least one thing we can trust you for—which, there are more—it’s your sense of responsibility.”

“Please keep me that way, Bow. I don’t want to lose that.”

“As long as you promise to not go _too_ hard on yourself,” he countered with a touch of warning.

Waiting for a response, Bow cautiously inched his knee over to rest against her thigh—lightly, so she wouldn’t be scared off. She wasn’t.

“I can but try.”

The words touched a familiarity in him, as if Adora had been quoting, so he sorted silently through his mental bank. His lethargic blinking predicted the inevitable descent into slumber. Bow put his fingers through the mindless task of saving all his datapad’s notes, organizing files by category for fast retrieval, in case he drooped off in the middle of something.

Glimmer yawned, unconsciously seeking a more comfortable position on Adora’s leg. It brought back to Bow an image of their finding her in the palace just an hour or two earlier. Under her queen’s robes and the weight of the ceremony, she still donned a vibrant base layer of peace. It was small consolation amidst the battle’s tragedy that her improvements shone on. The angle between her neck and shoulders was more fluid; her curves had a more confident leanness. She had gifted to her friends a rich but muted smile, one which Adora had mirrored so deeply that it moved her ears into her hair, soaked up happy warmth into her aura. _And now, too, it turns out,_ Bow remarked internally. He watched Adora monitor Glimmer in dreamland, rubbing her arm soothingly as she curled up under the wine-colored cloak. He swore the fresh light in her eyes was the same as She-Ra’s iridescent hue, matching the vision he had moments prior.

Suddenly, the source of Adora’s quote slid into place—one of Bright Moon’s most famous tales first set down into a book. It starts with a noblewoman rejecting a marriage proposal from one of her scholars, who doesn’t take it well, and thus drags her sorrows to the road as a wandering bard. When her country is attacked via conspiracy within, the scholar returns to help her patron escape. The meat of it covers their adventures and trials to gain allies and eventually take back their home, during which the noblewoman develops a love for the bard and ends up proposing in the final pages. The story’s main take away was showing how legal interactions worked between provinces and their leaders, and to be a metaphor for the ridiculous, outdated institution of political alliances through marriage.

In the current day, its reputation was for being Bright Moon’s most romantic adventure, even though to the majority of readers it was high on adventure and low on romance. A googly-eyed Lance was always happy to remind Bow of the commonly missed themes, where George would inevitably counter with “Anything’s romantic when you set the bar that low.” He hadn’t heard anyone tell it for such a long time. _Adora’s quoting it verbatim…that means she read it. But she doesn’t need to know anything about alliances. All the rebel kingdoms are solid with each other…so what’s she reading it for?_ The question snuck in a reminder that this all started after picking up on how she looked at Glimm—

_Oh._

_…OH._

From there, daily signs compounded in his mind. This swath of changes ever since Glimmer’s capture offered little chance for coincidence. And right beside Adora’s direct reference to probably the most famous romantic tale from Bright Moon’s history. _Oh, how blind I have been._ _Question is, am I the only one?_ His fluttering elation entered into a whole new level, needed a new unit of measure defined. Bow gnawed his lower lip as a thousand images burst like fireworks before his mind’s eye.

_Must…not…meddle…_

“Been too quiet for my liking, there,” Adora murmured. “Are you working through a new theory?”

“ _Yeahyoucouldsaythat!_ ”

His squeak, too, vastly exceed its former maximum, so said Adora’s flinch. Though that reaction was just as likely a dodge to avoid a collision with his brain shooting off it thirteen different directions.

“Uhhh, right. Did you want more tea, then? I hear that’s good for planning and…figuring stuff out.”

 _And I would’ve made it for you EVERY MORNING if that meant figuring your feelings out years ago!_ was what he wanted to shout at her, but Bow worked those blessed uncovered abs of his to settle his answer with much more decorum and usefulness.

“Yes, tea would be fine,” he made a show of checking Glimmer’s status, “And you have to do so without waking Glimmer. So…just remember: if it goes poorly, I really hope you like swimming.”

* * *

“Mmmm, right hand toward my left shoulder, and leg next to my right calf…you’re going to trip me backwards and right.”

Heran pulled back and threw up her arms, their dark brown ridges lying flat in satisfaction, “Right again! This is _obviously_ mind reading!”

“No, it isn’t,” Perfuma turned to face her and gritted her teeth, intoning rejection to a short tune. “It’s reading your _body_.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Bow and Entrapta too much if you care about word choice,” Frosta called, sitting cross-legged on a nearby boulder.

“But it’s not! If I were reading your mind, I could tell you the next order you’re going to give, o-o-or what food you’re thinking of.”

Leaning against Frosta’s perch and coming up to an even height with the Princess, Megofas snorted.

“It’d be curry. She’s always thinking of curry.”

“Curry? That’s a weird name for food.”

The minotaur blinked, words halting in hopes Frosta would correct them, “You’ve…never had…curry?”

“No. What is it?”

“Potatoes, veggies, bread or rice, and an amazing sauce I would willingly frollic for.”

Frosta crinkled her nose, “Do the veggies touch the potates?”

Megofas tried to comprehend, but after a second marched determinedly off toward the mess.

“Be right back, colonel!”

“It’s past lunch bell, sergeant. There’ll only be dry rations out!” she shouted at her back.

“If our cooks aren’t willing to remedy a curry emergency, they’re getting demoted!”

Heran shrugged and returned to her training partner, “All right, Highness. What’s the difference between the two?”

“Normally, my life sense tells me where living things are. I’ve been starting to feel out specific beings, and now, life _within_ the body also. How you’re using your muscles, in other words.”

“And you discovered this just yesterday,” the officer massaged the side of her neck in thought.

Perfuma nodded, “When Frosta got done building the south walls, I went to find you so you could inspect, but no one knew where you were. I admit, I got a little frustrated—this place is incredibly chaotic—so I used my magic to find you quicker. That’s when I noticed I felt the movements of the people I passed, like changes in a river current.”

“I have an idea, if you’re open to it, Highness. I think it would be a useful training exercise for you.”

“Always willing to try,” said Perfuma with a tremor that clearly wasn’t willing.

“Great. Let’s off to the border sparring yard.”

Not wanting to miss more than she had to, Frosta ran to catch up with Megofas and haul them to the new location. The colonel had been wary from the start about showing the full extent of the Princesses’ new powers to anyone in Casayon, who might let it slip unintentionally to the ex-Horde contingent. So their group had found a patch of clear ground near the skiffs for her demonstration, where only a couple of rebel guards and mechanics would be. The morning prior, while Casayon was still numbly compliant after the battle, Heran had ordered a roped off area be setup for exchanging combat training between the ex-Horde and her rebels. A past smuggler from the Crimson Wastes, her quartermaster had argued vigorously, noting emphatically all of the supplies they had already lent out to the effective refugees. But the Alliance was in charge, and if this was their wished couse of action, Heran would see it done.

 _And no reason to not use it to its full advantage when possible._ Their trek was unhampered. Heran tried not to notice, tried not to think about the absent bustle. The sparring yard was the barest of the bare—braided hemp rope running around a rectangle of aged wooden posts about 9 inches in diameter. Not even a canopy to rest under between bouts. The border posts looked as sapped as fighters after an hour sweating in the prairie heat, anchored in the hard earth like the leathery-skinned traders who continued living out of spite. Yet ex-Horde soldiers were always hanging around. At minimum, half a dozen of them wrestled and sparred here throughout the day, sometimes while rebels watched but never joined.

As was the case when she and Perfuma arrived onsite. A bulky olive skinned man with handwraps was circling a pale barefooted woman with a worn, rust splotched wrap around her right calf, both ex-Horde by the insignia on their long shorts. Their compatriots sat or stretched, calling out maneuvers to try and encouragement at times. Surprisingly, more than a normal share of Rebels were in attendance, unashamedly attracted to recruits that had arrived yesterday: Meadowlanders. They were a largely nomadic population from south of the Valley of the Lost, known for their horsemanship and odd cavalry styles. Their letters from their vartasin (or chieftain) looked legitimate, and their horses, winter wheat, salt, and recurve bows wouldn’t be turned away, either.

“Goodness!” Perfuma exclaimed in a knee jerk reaction to seeing the newcomers, then a harsh red blush quieted her. “I mean, I can’t believe they’re real—uh, really here.”

The lot sat relaxed, belonging in the sun and dust and waving grasses, undisturbed by her volume. They had on sturdy riding pants and light shirts that allowed airflow to their skin. All wore a head covering in some regard, most were simply a woven cotton square that draped down to their shoulders.

Heran coughed to cover her laugh, “It’s been nearly a year since they’ve sent volunteers, but I can agree with you there, Princess.”

“The tall girl doesn’t look more than eighteen summers.”

“And their leader has only seen twenty-six. It’s too early to tell, but I think their youths are starting to see the value in banding together to resist.”

Seeing Perfuma wound up in the bout already in progress and its audience, the colonel began a somewhat hushed explanation.

“After these two finish, watch the next and use your body reading in tandem with the emotional overlay, Princess. There is a lot to learn about how one fights depending on their mood or focus.”

 _‘Emotional overlay,’ that’s a good one._ “Like fear or anger?”

“In the least. And even those don’t guarantee what they are or aren’t going to do.”

“That seems like a lot of input. I’d be listening to someone say ‘orange’ while pointing at a blueberry.”

Heran quirked the corner of her mouth, one set of facial ridges flexing, “Almost exactly.”

“Flooding rots, colonel, you _do_ have a demanding side.”

 _Which is why we didn’t lose more than a hundred lives yesterday,_ she nodded wistfully and strode off.

The remaining Plumerian retreated to her lotus style of sitting on the bumpy, stiff groun. A year ago, she would’ve summoned up gargantuan morning glories to shade each cluster and provide at least one comfort. More than ever, despite being free of direct and constant criticism, she lately found herself seeking self-moderation. She only looked into the emotions of others when doing so was of demonstrable help, and then, if it were absolutely necessary. Out of respect for all Etherians, she held her abilities to a measure. Perfuma thrived on their being open and willing to share insights and personal experience; forcibly extracting it still made her feel in violation of their trust, an unseen earthquake opening them up for analysis.

Two staves in hand, the colonel stepped over the rope boundary as the ex-Horde pair left, drenched in sweat. She waved one in a cancelling gesture toward another group that looked to use the small arena at the same time, and leveled one end toward Lonnie.

“Commander Nesita, would you spar?”

They all hushed as if stunned by the fact that Heran had spoken, breaking the conversation barrier between the two sides. The indicated woman rose and rolled muscular shoulders, nodding. She took a staff from her and stepped backward, hefting, thrusting, and sweeping it to get a feel for its moves. Heran watched approvingly, and twisted around to the Rebels. Her lancing gaze connected with the smallest of the Meadowlanders, head wrapped in his scarf that was colored mustard or coyote, depending on whom one asked. She pointed at him.

“Name?”

He stood almost immediately, as if commanded.

“Isim,” came a youthful, airy voice.

“Isim, spar Nesita. Until either of you wants to stop, or I say so.”

Momentarily, the caramel-skinned woman looked betrayed by Heran’s request, but then stretched it out of herself with side lunges. The recruit cautiously grabbed the weapon, which nearly beat him in height, as Heran pointedly and swiftly exited. Lonnie and Isim stared each other down from the safety of expertly drawn masks: one of honed militant training, and the other of culturally ingrained awareness. Perhaps the other onlookers, like Perfuma, were pitting their size, age, and skill differences against each other in a mental betting pool, seeing how accurate their evaluations would prove.

They both nodded, and Lonnie lunged with authoritative precision. He dodged haltingly, but his staff snapped vertically to a well-formed guard. He pivoted it in his top hand, leveling for a strike at her extended forearm. Lonnie was already sidestepping and sweeping in the low end toward his leg. From the sidelines, Perfuma let loose her magic. It seemed eager to latch onto the two of them, their first exchange a quaint mix of elementary formalities and deep comprehension of the forms. Anger fenced in by passion, Isim’s emotions bore a crimson coat with red trim and a lonely core of deep blue, though she didn’t need an emotional reading for that. Whereas Perfuma’s people cared for the land like a growing child, Meadowlanders regarded their territory as a mentor or older sibling that taught and shaped them, to which they owed undying allegiance and protection. Closely locked with Lonnie in a combative dance and backed by his brethren just outside the ropes, Isim was more distant from his home than Adora was from the lost Eternia.

Resetting stances, the fighers pushed apart, and the vacuum created seemed to draw in the scent of curry spices. Frosta was back, cross-legged next to her, and the shadow of Megofas loomed at behind. Onward Perfuma forged, and waggled her silvery brow to weed through the unnecessary clutter amidst feelings and movements. Slowly she was weaving Lonnie’s into a routine that transferred seamlessly from one to the next. She’d lift up for a block, whose arc came around into a strike, and gave the impression the attack was her main goal from the start. Her moves constantly brandished a roan mix of chestnut red and tan. As she built up into shot combinations, bright red flared out more, dipping into that source of rampant energy. Yet it always mellowed back down, inquisitive and committed.

“So…what’s she look like?” Frosta inquired.

“It’s…interesting…”

Her companions lit up, intrigued by a potential revelation. They leaned closer. Perfuma had her pointer fingers steepled together, thumbs pushing her pursed lips against them. The boy hopped over a leg sweep, scarf parachuting and collapsing, then jabbed for Lonnie’s solarplexus. In a rabbit swift weight transfer, she scooted backward perpendicular to him and trapped his staff end between hers and her forearm. She yanked away from him. Isim held on, losing his center of gravity, and yelped. Bright yellow confusion rippled over his partner for an instant, and Perfuma heard a corresponding sharp intake of breath through bovine nostrils above.

“Now _that_ …was interesting,” Megofas rumbled to themself.

“What was?” Frosta arched her neck back.

“No no no…”

Later Perfuma would remember that instant with pride: forecasting exactly how Lonnie as a veteran would use his lack of balance against him. Countless matches she had watched over the years while meditating and stretching, hoping against hope something would sink it. Isim’s arms loosened, and he slid just an inch or two closer the Lonnie, then he bunched all his might into one attempt to free it. His maroon cracked into brighter reds, blazing hotter than she had ever witnessed in _anyone_ , including Frosta. All Lonnie had to do was let go; he stumbled back, and she tucked her lower tip behind his heel. Isim couldn’t correct his wild flailing and flew back.

Wheeling her hip, the soldier whirled her staff down for his head. _Stop!_ More confusion and anxiety rocked Perfuma’s world: Lonnie was fully in control, Isim’s staff would come up to table a block, and yet a hidden factor put her on edge. _If I can control plants, I_ should _be able to—_

“ _Don’t._ ”

Heran clamped a vise on her upper arm in the shape of a hand, and the order did the same to Perfuma’s intent. Her reasoning wobbled in her throat, and she heard the fateful **_crack_** from the sparring match. Isim’s shaded expression was sheer panic staring up at Lonnie. She had put half a shoulder width between them, easing off the threat to the boy who held two broken staff halves.

“Tell me what you’re seeing,” said Heran, folding her hands back under her elbows.

“Lonnie has...Commander Nesita has…has confusion and anger in a spiral, but she’s burying it. The… _loss_ within Isim is…is is filling him—”

It was as if he had heard her whispering through catacombs where a deathly spectre was prowling. He smacked Lonnie’s staff to offline, sprang up into a crouch, and went at her with his staff pieces like a cornered boar. Head, back of the elbow, knee, eyes—his furious blows rent the air with no interest in the force limits of sparring. The ex-Horde soldier gave ground almost every time. This new escalation was a wonder to Perfuma’s body sense. She felt a genuine letdown at predicting Lonnie’s counter strike to stop it, this flurry of contractions and extensions, and send her attacker sprawling once more. She towered over him, prone, and in her grip the staff appeared like a deadly wrought iron spike. The Princess caught sight of a dying throb of fury wash over him, then his gate closed for the last time on his volatile emotions.

Lonnie drew back, grabbed the broken halves, and set everything down by their edge of the sparring yard. Her smooth actions clothed her contemptuous look.

“I’m done for the day, colonel.”

Then she left them behind, and stalked off into the ex-Horde camp.

Conversations and more sparring soon filled the gap. The Meadowlanders talked amongst themselves with a couple eavesdroppers. Isim’s despair haunted Perfuma. Had she ever felt that affected when separated from her home? Was it because he was so young?

“Colonel, do the Meadowlands ever force their people to come out here? This wouldn’t…be a punishment for them, would it?” she inquired softly.

The minotaur made a sound of consideration, but didn’t speak. Heran drew her chin, watching Lonnie disappear.

“If it is, they do a great job of hiding it. I’ve promoted several from the last batch and sent them to other posts. Their reports generally come back favorable,” came the answer.

Perfuma let the puzzle go for the time being. She reformed her lotus position and closed her eyes, more than ready to reconnect with her vision of the Heart Blossom. It had been, what, two and a half days since she had been back? She had climbed up to her favorite broad branch in the rosy orange dawn, friendly breezes along her skin. Forest chirps greeted her, and chasms in the tree’s bark demanded maneuvering in order to find comfort.

As the picture came to life, the Princess vaguely remembered that the only thing in contact with Casayon’s stale earth should’ve been her feet and rear end. Yet all of a sudden, it slammed up into the side of her face. Chirps were now shouts, the sun’s fire now flames as high as their feast hall roof, her favorite branch now the long gun of a tank. Strong garlic and heady basil on Frosta’s breath brought her back, the nightmare gone.

“Perfuma! Wake up!”

“Highness, what happened? Are you light-headed?” Heran was gingerly propping her up.

“I think…” she started, grabbing her head.

No, there was no doubt with _those_ sensations. And she would suffocate in the anticipation bleeding from those around her, wanting answers.

“Plumeria’s under attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castling in chess is the only time a king can move more than one square at a time. The main purpose is to protect the king behind pawns, while at the same time bringing out your rook (most powerful piece behind the queen). It's a recovery and set up at the same time.
> 
> I updated the story description in The Opening with different ages for the characters. The She-Ra wiki says Adora was 20-21 at the end of the series, so I'm going with 20 at the end of season 4 (ie the start of the fic). If three years pass over the course of the series, Frosta is just under 15. And WOW I just saw the word count for this. I was hoping it'd be closer to the 6k mark I usually do, but I didn't want to start yet another chapter with the announcement of an attack, so you got this last scene in there. Perhaps the next chapter will cut back.
> 
> Over the course of AtS, I've been trying to nail down a good map of Etheria from the current series. Most searches give me screen caps from the digital display in the council room, which are really hard to decipher. I've been combining verbal descriptions from the series and the map from the 80s cartoon action figures. There's a separate comic (where my new avatar pic is from) where Angella shows them a huge mountain south of the Valley, and Meadowlands is a location on the 80s map in near the same spot. Hope that's a good explanation. I may just need to draw up my own map for reference so I don't waste all that time searching and rehashing it.
> 
> Please let me know if the bits of flashback written into the memorial scene weren't too hard to follow. I decided against line splits to show where they were separate because the last exchange would've looked incredibly juvenile formatting-wise. The Moon Gardens had a LOT of editing. I've been reading so many fan fics with excellent witty banter that I wanted to make sure that got back into my works. But Brizeus' death and Bright Moon's sincerity in their rituals wouldn't mean half as much if I did.
> 
> I sincerely appreciate your patience and hope the story is living up to expectations. Work is back in full swing, and I'm also balancing a creative commitment to our regional reenacting group. Every three weeks seems to be my update trend now. Fall may change that if work goes to another shutdown.
> 
> Yes, still looking to commission an artist for some Glimmadora works to put up in my home. Leave a comment if you've got a hook up :)
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	13. Middle Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at her three week update prediction from last chapter* Uh…surprise?

Her hands were buried by cloth. Folds and threads, dyes and seams. Each had been scrubbed raw, so much that the scent of summer’s sun wouldn’t stick if applied, an unbelieveable fairy tale. They had been repaired dozens of times. Cuts from grazing blaster fire, worn knees from kneeling by cots, tears from pulling out of Horde choke holds. Packing a go bag was something she hardly did anymore. The textures wrapped her up like a chat with an old friend. She wanted this over with. She wanted to run through the forests of her homeland again, rushing wind and scrawny vines trying to catch her.

 _But no,_ Heran slid a journal in between the two stacks of clothing, _not while these metal heads are still trying to take it from us. They’re_ not _going to take anything more, as I live._

Her tent’s door flap was brushed aside, and she could feel another presence crowding in. Back still turned while closing up her rucksack, she noticed the scuffing boots stopped respectfully at her desk.

“That was awful quick, sergeant. Are you ready to trust everything’s strapped down tight? _And_ organized?” the colonel asked.

“If I was your sergeant, this would be a very different conversation.”

It was Lonnie, at ease, expression bridged with anger. Heran’s inspection picked up relatively clean fatigues with good lines, sweat marks fanning out from her armpits, dry skin and dreads tightly pulled back.

“What can I do for you, commander?”

“Excuse me, but,” she cut herself off with a sadistically happy smile, “No, I don’t need you to excuse me. What kind of two-faced, _bleeding_ stupid command you got goin’ on here, colonel?! Where’d you think that sparring match was gonna go?”

“You agreed to spar. The nature of combat is to train in the unexpected, I’m sure you’re aware. From my eyes, you performed to expectations.”

“I could’ve killed him!”

“We never enter into the arena intending to kill. Are you saying you wanted to?” the Plumerian replied coolly.

She ground her teeth, “You intentionally kept information from me that affected the outcome of the fight, and put the kid in danger. All you wanted was to frame me, and we become the bad guys. _Yet. Again._ That’s textbook manipulation _._ ”

Heran let her emotions dilute a bit, pausing. Far off sounds of preparing a convoy kneaded them like a cat.

“Tell me, commander: would you have this reaction if I had put you up against anyone else?”

Her steamroller tirade rattled from the unexpected question, “No. My guys would’ve known to check their weapon, so they’d never be there in the first place. I’d assume yours would do the same, _and_ would’ve known how to control themselves.”

Ridges bristling and then laying flush with her arms, the colonel leaned forward on her desk, “Sure, let’s ignore the fact that the older fighters have more years to cultivate their grudges, and more methods of violence. Does that mean you took issue with facing a kid? How old were _you_ when you were taught to fight?”

“You’re damn right I take issue. You’re the Rebellion! You’re supposed to be _better_ than us!”

Of all the places this confrontation could go, that wasn’t the one Heran was expecting. Her own smoldering hate lost some of its fuel.

“ _You_ were the one who said you had changed,” Heran parried. “ _You_ were the ones dedicated to becoming part of the Rebellion. Yet _you_ are the one still using ‘us’ and ‘them’ in this conversation. Do you do that when you think, too?”

Lonnie’s stone face gave way to the tiniest crack. That was enough of an answer.

“We operate on trust. You’re right—I didn’t give you all the information. In a _training session_ , where you learn. You need to trust that I would… _never_ …do that to anyone in a combat situation,” she deliberately, forcefully jabbed her desk with a finger, “Just like I _trusted_ you not to kill that boy. Manipulation is when someone wants power over you. Trust is giving someone power over you, because you believe they won’t betray you. Both of us, _all_ of us, need trust if we’re working toward the same goal.”

The young woman swallowed, sweat now glistening on her loosening brow, and nodded.

“My decisions are also on the line, commander. If you had killed or hurt that boy, I would have willingly stepped down—nevermind the reprimand I would’ve undergone. The Alliance has put me in charge of these people, to prepare them to best defend our homes and families. And I will do so in the best ways I know how…so if you don’t want any part of that, stop wasting our time and defer to Rogelio.”

“No, I…I agree. I’m… _we’re_ here to help.”

“Good…then gather two squads and supplies, plus any equipment you can spare. I’ve been given clearance to bring you with us to Plumeria.”

“Yes…yes ma’am.”

Heran nodded sharply, expecting her to leave, but there was still one more layer of inquiry between them.

“What was the boy’s test?” Lonnie asked.

“His test?”

“Yeah. I saw you talk to the Princess—you wanted her to watch the match, for whatever reason. And you wouldn’t have chosen Isim randomly, so what gives?”

“Young minds are easily influenced toward bias, yet also to bring in new perspectives. I wanted to see how he handled a doubly disadvantaged position with an opponent that everyone is telling him to hate.”

“Did he pass?”

“You’re perceptive, Commander Nesita, I’ll give you that…but you’re asking the wrong question there. Get your squads, I’ll send a sergeant to escort your skiffs to the vehicle quadrant. And when you figure out that question, you find me. Dismissed.”

* * *

Glimmer had to marvel at where she was. Not that she was in the campaign tent that her mother and father had used at the start of the war. Nor that she was back in Plumeria for the first time in years. It was that within twenty minutes of Perfuma getting her vision, all of their camps and outposts knew help was needed. Thanks to Bow and Entrapta’s fabrication capabilities in her absence, there were only two Rebel settlements without a direct line of communication. They had upgraded datapads to send and receive messages, and Entrapta installed several relay stations to help boost signal all around. Cleverly disguised as natural landmarks, she’d been told. And for those efforts, there would be around three hundred Rebels gathered here by morning. _Mobilization and establishment within_ half _a day. Is this what Kes feels like all the time?_

As she hung the planning board on a tent post, what would hold the sizes of Rebel contingents and their commander’s symbols, she remembered Kes was meant to check in with them tomorrow. Without knowing what sort of net the Primes had on Etheria’s outbound communications, the Alliance had agreed in person meetings with their contact would be best. _And he has his own rebellion to worry over._ The entire previous day had been solely dedicated to the fallout of Casayon, including seeking Brizeus’ replacement. Until there was a formal decision, Captain Terila and Major Halbur had stepped in with her duties. Currently the captain was helping Glimmer with the war room, the fiery red of her short hair bobbing around in search of proper regional maps. Glimmer was unstacking stools as Scorpia and Entrapta popped in.

“Oh, I for sure thought we’d be the last ones,” Scorpia quickly scanned the tent and whispered to Entrapta, “Why aren’t we the last ones?”

“The airspeed velocity of your skiff was vastly improved over the base model after decreasing friction on the dorsal guiding fin, and using a new type of filter to reduce voltage unbalance in the engine.”

“Ok, I got…I think I got the first part.”

“The upgrades help it move faster,” Entrapta’s hair rotated one of the stools in the air before her. “We’re also moving just ourselves, not masses of troops.”

“What about Mermista? Were you able to reach her?” Glimmer pried.

“We did, but the battery ended up dying. And Sea Hawk argued with her almost the entire time. Tried to tell her she wasn’t well enough to go. Heh heh, I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen Mermista that mad,” Scorpia chortled, albeit worriedly.

“If she can come, she’ll come. I trust her in that.”

“Your Majesty, do you have the unit sizes that responded? We should get that situated here,” Terila was staring at the board.

“Bow has it on his data pad. He and Adora wanted to see what they could scout out first, so we’re not going in totally blind.”

 _Only partially blind._ The queen’s soft, lavender eyes roamed over the map of Plumeria, trying to envision what was not long ago a joyful land. The thick canopy and dappled sunlight, animals playing beneath ferns and springapples, dew kissed long grasses and enticing hollows between fig tree roots. The snapping of the tent door broke her concentration as the rest filed in. A quick head count revealed more faces than she could put names to. Perfuma took a spot near the center with a spectre hovering overhead. With the invasion in mind, Glimmer thought the blonde looked less wounded than she normally would have, and took heart in her veiled resolve.

The rest of the Best Friend Squad were the stragglers. Bow skirted past, flushed from his ride on Swift Wind (who snooped around for a horse-sized stool). Stepped off into a corner, a windswept Adora looked much the same in raking gloved fingers through her unruly strands. It was then Glimmer decided there were exactly zero reasons for someone to look that alluring after simply taking off their helmet. Sadly, the blonde’s expression was a subdued conflict between her plucky lopsided grin and its grim twin. She and Bow had withstood a day-and-a-half onslaught of reviews and debates so Glimmer might also have time for King Micah’s recovery. And the hectic rush of today only added to their mental wear.

“I appreciate everyone responding so quickly and pledging what they can,” Glimmer spoke up over the fading discussions. “Major, were your ground scouts able to sort anything out?”

“It appears to be an occupation. Some Plumerians were able to escape, and they told us others are in hiding. Many were…dragged from their homes and killed. They appear to be using fire, but it thankfully hasn’t spread out of control.”

“What from the air?”

“We spotted foot soldiers and I think a half dozen tanks. We couldn’t get any closer for a good count, but I’d say at least two companies, maybe a third,” Bow began placing wooden Horde markers.

“There was something else they had set up…here. Looked like a bunch of metal panels in a ring around a generator.”

Slinking in between Perfuma and Halbur, Adora pointed beside the Heart Blossom tree while fiddling with her belt pouch. She placed a peculiar chunk of mixed indigo and orange-gold mineral to represent the device, what Glimmer recognized as her take from Brizeus’ memorial pile. She tried to catch her friend’s eye, but Adora was looking to Entrapta.

“Oooooo, that might be the Magnifier,” the tech genius lit up. “I didn’t think they’d keep at it after…after I got sent away.”

“Mind explaining, Princess?” Heran prodded levelly.

“I needed help on a couple projects when Scorpia and Catra were busy, so I got some people passing by to hold some stuff. Then they asked questions and were _really_ curious and excited—and no one does that—so I _had_ to share. Like the Pop-top, which was going to combine Emily’s core infrastructure with the stabilizers on—”

“What does _this_ one do, dear?” Perfuma interrupted demurely.

“Oh! If Adora’s describing it accurately, that one should enhance the power of its installed energy core. First string Magnifier tests were meant to work with stun batons.”

“No, this was enormous. Say, ten feet across,” Bow countered.

“And it will _enormously_ enhance the current of stun baton energy. I think I calculated it out for eight cores.”

Adora spoke from behind her hand, clutched contemplatively over her mouth, “So it’s a stun baton that can affect an area, not just one person?”

“With that amount of power,” the maker shook his head, “There’s a good chance it does more than stun.”

Entrapta looked to others to share in her excitement: changing an object’s primary function by adding more power! But the hard lines in the faces around were all calculating a different direction.

“Then why go from _house to house_ slaughtering innocents?”

There was enough reprimand in Heran’s question to punch out a full-grown forest spider, and Glimmer couldn’t help noticing Entrapta’s ponytail wrap around her like a blanket. Instead of adding her own criticisms to the maddening atmosphere, she recalled the Dryl Princess’s mild depression at Casayon. Whatever had happened recently was stronger than her staple thirst for discovery. Seeing the strategy talk cross into infantry tactics, Glimmer quietly walked to a corner and teleported out.

“You’ll still need coordination for strike and fade maneuvers, colonel. We don’t have that many tracker pads, and runners would be both time consuming and a risk getting caught.”

Heran nodded twice to Halbur’s assessment, attempting to surgically remove a solution from the map with her gaze.

“Mirrors? We’ve used mirror before,” one of the lieutenants suggested.

“We’d be too spread apart, and no guarantee that we’ll have a clean line of sight,” said another.

“Oh gosh, uh…um, flutters? No, twit…flitters!” Perfuma grasped for a word.

Scorpia reached over, poised to pat her back, “Was that a sneeze? Sounded like a sneeze.”

“Flitters…those flutes we give to children?” Heran responded doubtfully.

“Yes!—no, I’m fine Scorpia, thank you—the very same. They can sound like any sort of bird, right?”

“It can, Highness…and I think I have enough Plumerians who’d know how to use them.”

“Well, we’ve got a couple hours. Could you have one made for each squadron?” Terila asked.

“Once you get one done, I can help,” Frosta raised her hand.

“Sounds reasonable, actually. I’ll have to figure out a code that’ll translate easily,” Heran looked up, pondering.

Halbur let out a wry chuckle, “Tactical coordination with a kid’s toy. Who would’ve thought?”

Glimmer had popped silently back in, carrying a small parcel, “Remind me to tell you about taking down killer robots with pie plates and fizzy drinks, major.”

Against his better judgment, Bow excitedly launched into a recounting, as Terila tried unsuccessfully to corral his energy. Glimmer took advantage of the distraction to squat down unobtrusively next to Entrapta’s seat, placing a calming hand on her hair.

“I forgot to tell you Baker sent these with. She knew you might be without them for a while.”

She presented a cloth wrapped box. Tiny purple-gray tendrils reached for its tie, undoing it smoothly while cradling it over to Entrapta’s lap. Inside, six small cupcakes sat securely in their own dividers, coupled with two bottles of fizzy drink. Glimmer heard a squeak in the back of her throat, and saw tears welling up. She started to stand, to get back to the meeting, but one of the tendrils closed over her wrist.

“I know people usually say ‘thank you’ in these social interactions, but those two words are insufficient within my parameters,” Entrapta told her softly, but clearly, “Same with ‘I’m sorry’ for the general’s termination…but, I can see how it would make sense to others.”

A pang hit Glimmer hard, for memories of Brizeus and the shift she heard in Entrapta’s apology, a shift noticing other Rebel squadrons, a shift from computer towards human. _Towards Etherian._ She smiled fondly and took the offered cupcake.

“I hear you, Entrapta, and thank you for the thought.”

Another smile, a little dimmer, was returned.

“We need to keep at that Magnifier, though,” the major’s reedy tone cut in. “When we handle their ground troops, they still have crowd control if we try to rush ‘em. Supposedly.”

“If I could,” Perfuma shakily spoke up, “This is the first time the Heart Blossom has given me a-a-a vision. I’m not sure if I called to it, or it to me, but maybe there’s something I can do if I connect with it again. If our powers have been growing, there could be another…uh, gift? It’s trying to give me.”

“Perfuma, if you know its branches well enough, I can teleport us in there to a well secluded spot,” Glimmer offered.

Adora beat Captain Terila to her objection, “Alone? Mm-mmm, too risky.”

“If we take in more, it’ll be too hard to hide.”

“Right, but if I’m Horde, and I’m thinking about where my enemy’s power lies? I’m gonna have lookouts in the tree. You’re both incredibly capable, I’m fully aware. But there are way too many variables,” Adora continued shaking her head, as if that gave her more support.

“Okaaay. I take in Lonnie and some of the ex-Horde. They could replace the lookouts and no one would be the wiser.

“In look, but not in practice. They would’ve changed security codes immediately.”

“I could take in Scorpia and Frosta, too. We’ve brought down a couple tanks before.”

“The Magnifier is crowd control, like Major Halbur said. One shot and you’re done,” Bow gestured to the device’s marker, then swiped his hand out in emphasis.

“So we split up. The four of us would be too much to keep track of.”

“It’ll be three, if Perfuma is connecting with her gemstone,” Adora pointed out. “That’s also a huge risk to leave her as a single target they need to worry about.”

“And just because we haven’t seen Prime, doesn’t mean he’s not here, or incoming,” Bow added.

Glimmer grumbled at the verbal fencing with Adora. Though it strained her patience something fierce, she reluctantly reminded herself of the example in her father’s maturity, and conceded.

“Fair points. What if Frosta tunneled again?”

“Not through a forest of ancient trees. I think that’d be quite unwise…though to be clear, my strength’s not the issue,” the Princess told them a little too confidently.

“This Magnifier seems like bait. There’s something else Catra’s got planned, to leave it out in the open for us to see,” Adora muttered tightly.

Glimmer snapped her fingers, “Colonel, Netossa will be here by morning, right? We could use her to contain the Magnifier.”

“That…could work,” Heran’s spines flattened, and her mood lightened a tad.

“What about a backup?” Adora’s arms were crossed now, “If Netossa can’t handle it?”

“The rest of us are the backup. Once we’re done with the tanks, we’d be there to contain it, and hold while Perfuma works her own magic.”

Scorpia and Frosta exchanged an approving look, much like the colonel’s, and gave Glimmer a thumb’s (and pincer) up. She next turned to Adora, whose upper body scrunched inward as scenarios upon scenarios cascaded through her mind. It then occurred to her that the room, accomplished Rebellion officers all, hung on the warrior’s judgment. A shadow of Glimmer’s old jealousy at that respect grappled with her anticipation, which she tried to put to rest with harsh memories of her last outburst. _And the fifteen hundred arguments I_ never _want to have again_. _Adora knows what she’s doing, and she’s a capable leader. I shouldn’t_ —

“There’s just _something_ that’s off, I can’t pin it down. We don’t have _any_ other ideas?” Adora finally spoke.

“Errrrgh, this is a _good_ plan! And probably,” Glimmer admitted under her breath, “The best thought out we’ve had in a while. What’s off?”

“I said, I don’t know, but my gut—”

“Is it because you’re not in it? I _know_ you’re second to none for planning, I get it. But you’ve got to trust us at some point.”

The blonde flinched backward with genuine shock, “What? No, it’s not—”

“Then what, Adora? How could your gut tell they’re _all_ bad? Why don’t you feel good about _any_ of them?”

“Because I’m in _LOVE with you!_ ”

At first, the answer didn’t register. Full on hit the back of Glimmer’s brain and fell into her cranial abyss. Bow paled and rotated his head cautiously towards his childhood friend. When the words ultimately sank in, they came with an aftershock of numbness. The distinct, blue-gray shade of Adora’s eyes stood like a wall chiseled from passion and conviction. But the pressure of the stones was squeezing out and exposing a paste from between them all. What cemented that look together was something of which Glimmer thought Adora had always been ignorant.

Fear.

_But…she’s afraid? Of me?_

She didn’t have half a moment to appreciate the gravitas of Adora displaying that most hated of all weaknesses. Attention locked onto the warrior, butting in from every angle or flitting to their neighbors’ and back, baffled by the past thirty seconds. Even Heran sat slackjawed. The queen regained her composure first, squinting over a shrewd scowl.

That was when the two of them phased out in a shower of pink light. The tent retained its precarious silence. Neatly slicing it in two was Perfuma’s huff, and then her quiet, Mermista-like grumble.

“It’s about flippin’ time.”

* * *

They reappeared in the common area of the tent they would share with Bow. The thrill of teleportation filtered out of Adora’s veins like sensation returning to a sleeping limb, as her friend’s anger pressed in.

“First Ones’ _fury_ , Adora! What were you thinking?!”

 _Be calm, focus,_ Adora told herself, _just take a deep breath, go with your heart._

“I thought I made myself pretty clear.”

 _And_ there’s _the reason my heart doesn’t get speaking privileges._

“No, aaaaugh, in the middle of a meeting? What does that have anything to do with…anything!?” Glimmer was pacing, brow folded, denying eye contact.

“The fact that you’re putting yourself too much at risk has _everything_ to do with it.”

“We’ve done stupider stuff before. _I’ve_ been more reckless before!”

Adora sighed in frustration. _W_ _e’re seriously shouting at each other about this?_

“Well I didn’t know I loved you then!”

Her back was to Adora, defeat hooked into her voice, “When did…how?”

She took her time in answering, in a low and balanced timber, “A lot of thinking. And searching, I guess some call it. I started suspecting after Horde Prime took you…but it’s been a long time coming, when I look back. Ever since I saw your strength at Thaymor years ago.”

 _Saw_ my _strength?_ Glimmer balked. _This from the woman who’s gotten shot by tanks—plural—and just rolled them off._

“I mean,” she grasped at a tremulous breath, “How did you figure this isn’t just friendship?”

“Because…I don’t want Bow’s arms wrapped around me when we listen to stories at the fire. I don’t want run, o-or or dance, or spar with Mermista in rainstorms ‘til we’re soaked to the bone. I don’t…want to kiss Perfuma senseless and feel her melt into me, or wake up so close to Frosta that I can see myself in her eyes. I don’t want to go explore all of Etheria with Scorpia, just to find out it’s nowhere as beautiful as her…but I want all of that with you.”

Glimmer slammed shut her eyes, shivering with confusion and a dash of anger. S _tars above, h_ _ow can she think that about me?_ _I’m just…some immature queen._

Adora’s mind, meanwhile, was reeling from the stark reality that her mouth had said that many consecutive words without her own boot interrupt it. Quietly, she went on.

“I feel terrible for embarrassing you. It’s not, _really_ not how I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry.”

She got nothing but Glimmer’s back, utterly still. _This is what dying feels like._

“I-it was out of line,” Adora kept floundering, “I guess I’m still tired, and on edge, so it just…came out.”

She watched Glimmer’s head sink a fraction, depositing into her hand. A short huff near ripped Adora in two, an ugly splintered break. That huff was either a defeated sigh, or one of irritation, and she was going verifiably insane with doubt. _You CANNOT screw this up, Adora. This could be all you get._

“If you hold it against me, for…well, forever, I get it. But understand it doesn’t change how I feel. Not a thing.”

Glimmer listened to Adora’s approach, tentative and cautious. There rose the fluttering from the pit of her stomach again, panic gurgling over acidic anxiety. She crossed her arms over it in attempts to stifle the conflict. A questioning hand on her hip made her aware of the inviting warmth beside her in that struggle.

“I _do_ love you, Glimmer. Both as your best friend, and more, too…if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Let me think about it, please. I…I don’t have an answer for you.”

Reassuring hands moved to her shoulders, a feather light knock to let her know Adora was there, but not intruding. What should’ve been a steadiness radiating at her back was choked off, trying to break through a jungle of Glimmer-shaped uncertainty. She couldn’t face her. That undaunted, uncomplicated look would smudge out any debate she had left.

“Of course. Whatever time you need.”

The queen secluded herself into the swirling mists of her mind. She tried to weave them into thoughts of a gorgeous Bright Moon afternoon, mellow breezes and an amber blanket of sunlight. She yearned to walk there, to let fly this score of chaotic debates bickering between her ears. She had shouted Adora into another corner, but not in the privacy of her own room—in front of the _entire_ war council. _That means it’s true, right?_ What would Glimmer find if she ran headfirst into those shared memories? A briar patch of misinterpretations? A tangled, budding vine wound more around herself than Adora? The clammy, quivering hands near her neck brought the issue back around.

“Would a hug make this any worse?”

Glimmer snorted, “No, that…that’d be perfect.”

Once enfolded in her friend’s comfort, Glimmer sighed. Heavily. And the all too real shudder of the woman in her arms was the last resounding note, the **_boom_** of a thick tome being dropped onto a desk. Adora’s chin sat softly atop her hair as she unwound into the heartbeat against her cheek. The warmth surrounding her brought back the undeniable sense of home, acceptance. _‘Friends’ can still happen_ , she swore to her future self.

For all the times Adora’s words had failed, here they deftly asked two questions at once.

“When do we have to go back to the meeting?”

“…in a bit.”

* * *

It was an hour into her watch, and if Captain Terila closed her eyes, she’d be back in Bright Moon. There was a riot of cricket song dipping in and out between the ruckus of new troops arriving and settling down. Amiable and cool currents in the night predicted a brisk wind come morning. And like the enchanting musclewood tree outside her home, the limbs at her back and beneath her provided an excellent vantage point for her post. But rarely did she get the time to cherish these things, to let her storyline write them in as elements. Only on her days off, which she hardly took nowadays, despite Oran’s insistence: too many memories to find their voices as she drifted toward sleep.

Most especially she wouldn’t be closing her eyes because of her charge. Terila had heard the queen wake and disturb the rhythm of the night a couple minutes prior, pulling on her boots. The lessons she had undergone to train that recognition, over distance and through barriers, were as sharp as her boot knives: not a readily obvious, yet an ever present weapon. Noiselessly, Glimmer appeared at the back of the tent, pausing like a lynx on the hunt to see if its prey knew its whereabouts. The captain hoped she could convince her that a prey of a sitting contemplative space would be more nourishing than a mobile one.

As she walked nearer the tree trunk, navigating its tributary roots, Terila molded her tone to be heard without a loud broadcast.

“If you’d like, your Majesty, you can come up here for a quiet space…and you don’t have to worry about losing your tail.”

Glimmer’s jump spurred a smile onto her lips, freely given to the dark and its lack of audience. She looked up to the lithe relaxed form, pausing again in debate.

“I promise you don’t have to talk if you don’t want, and this’ll save my guards needing to track you down.”

After a whisper, the young woman appeared on a branch over, reclined in a similar position. The magic’s need for adaptability still inspired a bit of awe whenever Terila played witness—where to expect the impact, getting oriented afterward, the will and focus to trust the results. Yet Glimmer inspected the tree for the mundane detail of where she might’ve caught her clothing. And there was no doubt she’d end up talking; one didn’t become a Bright Moon Guard without learning to predict the royal family at times. Glimmer would do so before she had thought out her own answers to the questions, then most likely meld others’ words with her own. It was a good half hour later when she lived up to Terila’s wager.

“How do you make tough decisions, captain?”

She hummed, “Broad range on that one.”

A quaint smile raised Glimmer’s reply a step, “Yes, I’m aware the answer also includes making tough decisions.”

“Well…when it comes down to it, your Majesty, I figure out what’s most important. Then I take the path that gets me there most efficiently, while hurting others as little as possible.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“Sure, but we both know the process is far from it, especially if emotions are involved, and we’re only human, so...”

The rest of the words hung out in the space between branches, as Glimmer swung her legs so they dangled over one side of her perch. She was staring toward the grass far below, where it gave way to roots as necessary at the base of the tree.

“Do you ever think the Guard would be better utilized…maybe training our troops? Or patrolling the Fright Zone border? …or, skitches, even helping us strategize? I know they’ve got smart heads on their shoulders.”

Terila felt a laugh burst out of her, after a pensive moment, “This is not the decision I thought you were asking about, your Majesty.”

Glimmer’s nose crinkled at first, confused, “Then what…? Oh, shades no. That’s— _she’s_ another matter entirely.”

“It sounds like,” the older woman brought her knee up under one elbow, “I’m going to have to have the same talk with you as I did your father, your Majesty. And your mother, too.”

Glimmer had forgotten just how young Terila was when she had taken over the palace guard. Despite her cordial reservedness, her martial skill and shrewdness had always been as ingrained in her reputation as water was in the sea.

“And what’s that?”

“The Bright Moon Guard is here to protect the royalty—where you go, we’re there, and we make sure you come back from wherever you went.”

“That sounds like a mission statement, not a talk.”

Terila quirked an eyebrow, “Astute. If we had wanted to protect all of Etheria, we would’ve joined the Rebellion’s ranks instead.”

“Does that mean when all this is over, there’ll be no more need of the Guard?”

“…perhaps less. Probably cut back on numbers.”

“But why can’t I just take care of myself? I’m pretty much my own protection,” Glimmer slid her hands under her thighs.

“Your Majesty, your powers are, of course, impressive, but everyone has blindsights. Our job is to minimize yours.”

“Now wait a minute: your guards haven’t been with me whenever I left the palace. There were plenty of missions I was only with Bow or Adora.”

“Most of those times happened without prior notice or our approval, as my lieutenants’ reports said. The other times, you didn’t know we were there.”

“Oh…well…”

Drifting off, racking her memory for a chance to justify her own request, Glimmer stared out into the clearing. Yellow lantern light arced up above the angled tent tops, reminding her of mountains inked into a map. She translated the different shapes and sizes to their unique regions and units, without needing to look to their flags drifting lazily above. Splotches of individuality coming together to form a cohesive Rebellion.

“Your Majesty?”

Terila faced her fully, holding a smelted look of concern. Glimmer busied herself taking stock of their camp again.

“Did one of my guards say something yesterday?”

“No, no this is all me. I mean…the Guard is here because my family is important to Bright Moon. But why? Why would I be more fit to lead than a farmer or soldier? Why do I get to make the decisions because I’m born to certain parents?”

Following suit, Terila weighed the setup below them—tent size, row width, where shadows fell and whether they moved unnaturally. It didn’t worry her that her mind defaulted to criticizing weak points or places of ambush; that’s just how she worked.

“I don’t know, my Queen.”

Glimmer recognized she could’ve said literally anything else: flattery, a boost to her confidence, sage advice on guiding a kingdom. But she didn’t. What came was a frank and deliberate observation. The request for honesty days ago seemed to have stuck.

“How about this,” Glimmer found her eyes, “Can you drop the formalities when I’m not in public? No title or whatnot?”

“So…just around you, your dad, Bow, or Adora?” the redhead winked.

She laughed in the middle of her reply, “No, they definitely don’t count as public.”

“I’ll do my best. Call me Ter, then.”

“Got it.”

Standing up, Glimmer took to balancing on her former seat, testing out contours and bends. The Guard captain couldn’t help a brief jolt of panic at the thought of her falling, but only because the conversation had transformed her into the headstrong youngster she once was (or more headstrong, at least).

“About my… _other_ …decision. You don’t have experience with those things, do you?” came the young woman’s inquiry, toned down for vital privacy.

“Just once.”

“With Oran?”

Terila shook her head, “Before Oran.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I was too scared to chance it, and it seemed like she felt the same. Then a man came and swept her off her feet, as they say.”

“But that didn’t make you want to say something?”

“I wanted to say something long before he came along. I didn’t love her more because suddenly someone else found her desirable. That seemed too…I don’t know, petty?” the captain said.

Glimmer stopped her pacing, “Did you stay friends, at least?”

She nodded, “All of us did. She and I just…decided other things were more important.”

“Does that mean…”

Two strong horn blasts sounded from deep within the forest: _on guard_. A huge wind gust threw itself against Terila and Glimmer as if born from that very horn, just thirty times larger. A flying object grew closer to their position, above the treeline, then several more. The captain spotted the green of Horde energy weapons as more horn signals came.

_Enemy approaching, rally to units._

“You know we’re toast in open ground, captain. Get everyone to the trees. I’ll bring the Princesses to the northern edge and meet you there.”

Terila, smirking, stuttered her address to a shimmering silhouette, then climbed down.

“Yes ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Middle game is the chess term for (surprise surprise) the time between opening and endgame, the phase known for holding the largest amount of decision making and variables compared to its end caps. I don’t mean to say this is the middle of Across the Stars, however. There are plenty of changes and potential moves debated here. I had to reread the war room scene several times and edit in some breaks so the discussion didn’t just pile altogether and overwhelm readers. But, there still had to be enough appropriately aimed tension enough to make Adora’s outburst believable—hurray for the writer’s ongoing battle for balance.
> 
> This chapter went up so quickly because I had been sitting on the Glimmadora scene for quite some time. A good thing too, because I’ve been expanding and developing it for long enough that I’m happy with it. My main worries were whether the short perspective shift to Adora was too confusing, and whether her opening with humorous internal dialogue would throw off the seriousness of her other two thoughts. The scenes for Heran (HAIR-on) and Terila (teh-RILL-uh) came out pretty naturally, and I feel their character builds come across realistically.
> 
> Please don’t leave any comments, questions, and/or criticisms. I despise them and think my writing is perfect.
> 
> …said no good writer ever ;) Please, ignore my sarcasm and let me know what you think. I’m happy to have earned the privilege of your attention and time.


	14. Ranks Clash, Bishop Pinned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5, with no alterations to the events in seasons 1-4.

In the camp’s roaring river of chaos, Bow stood armed and looking skyward at the front of the tent when Glimmer teleported into their eddy. She shot up a flare that exploded like a firework, illuminating the incoming monstrosities: ships.

“Prime brought them ships?!”

Bow’s yell was partially muffled by his arm as he aimed. The arrow zipped off toward the nose of the closest one and detonated against its hull. There was no debris or confirming sound of damage, but nonetheless it banked upward and off course. Thunder erupted on their borders as the gunships flew over. Eight Bright Moon Guard were gathered now, firmly pressuring them away from open ground. One bracer clamped in her mouth, a mostly armored Adora emerged last, fumbling with the straps on the other.

“Sho much far shtrategy!”

The archer knocked and let another missile fly, “Aww, c’mon. Haven’t you always said we’re good at improvising?”

“I told Captain Terila to find us on the northern edge,” Glimmer took Adora’s other arm guard and made quick work of it, “We could really use Lonnie’s weapons.”

“They’re north and east. The colonel would head for the trees,” Adora said, donning her helm.

Ducking and dodging, they moved as one. Orders volleyed all around them. There was an even mix of confusion and direction strafing through the alleyways and clusters. Rebels grabbed what supplies they could while heading for the safety of cover.

One of the Guard yelled, “Split! Split! Spli—”

Blasts from the attackers above rammed into the earth, proceeding up the pathway. They tore into tents, demolished structures and terrain alike. The halves of their group ran and dove left or right, whatever was closest. Glimmer uncovered her ears as it passed, dazed. Adora sprinted across the way toward their compatriots.

“Bow! _BOW!”_

Like a crazed bear lashing out to save her cubs, her ferocious yowl crashed through Glimmer. Smells of burnt hair and charred wood corroded her last illusions of their protected base. All that remained of the left side was a couple of broken uprights and smoldering canvas. There seemed no organization to the overhead shouts, now. Their camp was in shambles.

A ragged voice cleared the wreckage, “I’m here! We’re here…”

Adora and Glimmer pulled the survivors out, throwing off debris haphazardly. The queen locked onto what was left of a pair of Guard corpses caught in the damage. She wished her mind was numb. She wanted to gouge out their laughter from her memories. Their names, faces, families. An empty Glimmer filled with a callous cloud of sorrow, and creases of regret invaded her forehead.

“We need to divide and conquer. I’ll get the southern groups and route them around west.”

_That’s Bow. Bow’s talking._

“We’ll get the ex-Horde squad. Maybe drive them off.”

 _Adora. Adora’s here, too._ Glimmer couldn’t determine which stains before her were blood or loose dirt. Darkness was everywhere.

“I should,” she coughed, fighting her dry and closing throat, “I should gather the Alliance and coordinate a counter—”

Light showered them and they braced for impact, but what leapt up instead was a whooshing cheer. One of the ships careened over the treetops and out of sight, engulfed in rouge lightning and sputtering sparks. They allowed themselves a moment of hope.

“Put a W in Scorpia’s bag,” Bow grinned, “I’ll see you guys soon.”

Crouching low and weaving around crates, he melted into the background. Adora’s gaze circled, evaluating all their factors. Glimmer fell into acceptance.

“We should pull out of the camp, keep as many as we can safe.”

“Yeah…yeah, that’s the long and short of it,” Adora turned to the Guard. “Can any of you give the signals?”

A couple nods. Glimmer waved them to the front and they made for one of the interior watch posts, finding it miraculously intact. More groups rushed past, each a bullet coming out of a sling’s momentum. One woman blared out _retreat, regroup at safe points_ three times, and then they hurried onward. Subsonic bursts popped in behind, as the whine of another firing run screamed down on them. The guards pushed them perpendicular the path of the impacts, feet pumping with the life-saving haste they wished they never had to use.

“There’s a quicker way,” Adora pointed to a slanted avenue and started drifting.

“No, they’re right,” Glimmer tugged her back, “River Driver and High Suns keep neater camps. Their paths will be more open.”

“But this way is—”

“Just _trust_ them, Adora!”

Another barrage obliterated the rest of her objection. Glimmer caught clipped cries from the rear of their pack— _more lives snuffed out_ —so she threw caution to the wind. Bright Moon’s Queen let loose a curdling howl, and their group phased back in on the outskirts of the camp. Dull fire from the drastic demand of teleporting six people flushed out of her. The Guard found their bearings again, panting, and formed a ring of spears around her and Adora. Some scanned the sky, others the woodlands. Increasingly the encampment’s shouts and movement receded into its outer rim. The shots from the Horde ships elicited fewer screams. It seemed like the worst was beginning to pass. Seemed.

“You were right,” Adora spoke loudly, not quite a yell, “You need to take Perfuma and the Princesses to the Heart Blossom.”

“I’m sorry, what? Could you say that louder? I’d like to preserve this momentous occasion!”

“Okay, _okay_! I was wrong, shades...”

Glimmer toned down her outward pride at her friend’s defeat to a nod, “Mhmm, they probably won’t expect us to come in so quickly after.”

Blankets of leaves on the branches overhead shook from impacts not twenty feet away. They moved back farther into the woods, half crouched, continuing to monitor the attacks.

“I do trust you, Glim. It’s all the unknowns that I worry about.”

“Then _trust_ me,” Glimmer grumped and tracked another incoming ship, “To be able to handle them…I don’t need your protection all the time.”

Adora hauled Glimmer’s arm back—hard—yanking her closer to a bone-deep hunger etched in the clench of the warrior’s jaw. The violence of it blanked Glimmer’s mind.

“I’ve never thought that. _Never_. I meant everything I’ve _ever_ told you. Your strength is probably the greatest I’ve known. With all that you’ve done for the Rebellion, your people, your family? And then besting Horde Prime?”

Glimmer glimpsed a slip of silver moonlight in her pupils, that cut her voice with a raw hurt. But the respect laid on top, the force that changed Adora’s grip from rage to fervor, stilled her tongue.

“It’s never been that you’ve needed protection, Glimmer…it’s that you _deserve_ it.”

Thunder in Glimmer’s chest anticipated the crash of a kiss, with lightning and rain, wildness and beauty. But the swell died off without satisfaction. Several pairs of metallic clacks came to her ears: the Guard pounding their spears with gauntleted fists in a martial salute of agreement. They were of course responding to Adora’s words, not their Queen’s thoughts.

And it surprised Glimmer to not know which she desired more.

* * *

Whenever possible, Heran wouldn’t sit still. The demands on an officer, usually transferring from seat to seat in countless conflict reviews and planning meetings, had been uncompromising teachers in compartmentalizing those urges. She was filled to the brim with tricks and tips such that whoever promoted her in the first place was now long gone from her grudge list. Few would guess that a Plumerian even had a grudge list, let alone one with about a hundred names on it.

Heran’s names were all insects, which created a wall with their disgusting segmented bodies and drove her up it with tiny stampeding feet. Wider sets of spines on her shins allayed any scrapes or bruises from Plumerian underbrush, so her race tended toward pants that tied just below the knees. That made her open to (and thusly hyperaware) of a full line of curious travelers whose daily task was to scurry and prickle every which way, wherever they crawled. And it was _outrageous_ when a little creton of a spider had the nerve to cross from her unfeeling ridges to her well-defined calf. 

Luckily, when she shouted her count of five (to herself) and flicked the droughts-cursed explorer off, she noticed the Horde soldier sneaking along below her position. Their helmet forded the understory with a practiced ease. _A scout?_ She couldn’t parse out any other noises that announced a trailing squad. The chance would be worth it, though, to interrogate an enemy and find out what in the blazes they were up to. _In MY home!_

The leaves on her branch fluttered soft as an owl wing as Heran fell off. She plummeted toward her unaware target, knees aiming for shoulders, fingers twitching for her reach knives. But a closer vantage point highlighted one important detail she had missed: a blonde braid peeking out at the back. Immediately she let off a frantic squawk as warning and tried to roll offline. She crashed forward into the brush on top of Adora, branches whipping and cracking.

“Augh!” she scrambled back to where her target lay. “Are you okay?”

Heran’s skin stung from all matter of scrapes and cuts. She pried up the tangled cover to get at the pile of armor and limbs that was seventy percent Adora, thirty percent groans and half-hearted writhing. Thankfully her sword had flown off to the side. Heran felt blindly around for wetness or punctures, then whistled a short and sharp warble.

“Adora?...Adora, talk to me,” she leaned closer to her head.

A rustle shook through the space around her, Lonnie and her helmet speaker voice emerging.

“Colonel? What happened?”

“Uh huh,” Adora remembered how her throat worked, “She tackled a most dangerous foe.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—your helmet looks too much like the Horde’s in this dark. What’d I get?”

Gingerly Adora scooted out from under the maze of broken branches, contorting to avoid catching her clothing. Her right arm lay limp across her upper thigh.

“Ugh, I feel like there should be a javelin sticking out of my shoulder,” Adora shrugged and winced, drawing in sharply. “But I guess it’s just a nasty bruise.”

Two more ex-Horde shadows walked up next to them as Heran helped her stand. The officer prodded along the joint line, in the gap between the pauldron and chestpiece. The contact pinched a strangled moan from Adora.

“I hope you’re right…though worst case: it’s torn. How good are you fighting offhand?”

Adora tensed, “We’ve confirmed enemies?”

“No, not yet. Just preparing.”

“Whew. Well…I guess I’ll have to deal. What about Casayon’s troops? Did they get out in time?”

“We lost two squads, their tents were right in the line of fire. Lost a couple more running out here.”

Adora haltingly moved her shoulder back and forth, “We need to reassess, get the unit leaders together. Bow’s directing everyone else up here. Have you seen anyone else?

“You’re the first,” Heran told her. “We have a handful on watch farther into the woods, in case the Horde tries any followup.”

“Good,” Adora next addressed Lonnie. “How are we supposed to recognize you guys as friendlies?”

The young woman raised a hand off her blaster rifle, fingers spread wide. Across the palm was a glowing symbol: Horde wings with a slash through it, doubling as a stylized capital N. The blonde gave a curt nod.

“Perfect. If you all stay in this area, I’ll send whoever I find this way.”

The colonel crept delicately into a suggestion, “You should have back up with you, in case they sent ground troops in here.”

“With all of us we have crawling around…” Adora bit her lip in debate, “Ahhh, I guess you’re right. Lonnie, I can take two of yours. That’ll give us some options if we run into Horde soldiers…I mean, the actual Horde.”

Heran heard Lonnie’s armored gloves strangle her gun, then relent. She tried to overriding the building mood.

“Nesita, do you have two soldiers you can lend?”

“I can. Baggs, Turquo—go with Adora here.”

She had raised her hand up over the bushes, waving it side to side. The pair that materialized next to them were a male and female human, probably indistinguishable from most of the soldiers still loyal to the Primes.

“Once we regroup, what are we gonna to do?” Lonnie asked.

“Take down the rest of the ships, as we can. Can you take a couple of yours back to your supplies? Didn’t you bring a couple of shoulder cannons?” Heran suggested.

“We could, but wasn’t it Scorpia that just toasted one?”

“She and the other Princesses are headed to Plumeria by now. They’re going through with getting Perfuma to the Heart Blossom. Once we take out their airships, I’d like to head us all up there, distract any patrols away from their positions.”

They heard the wave of anxiety in Adora’s answer, surging like building waves against a boat hull, but left it alone.

“Then...we should all get going.”

The blonde grunted in the affirmative, “Hopefully see you sooner than later. Baggs? Turquo?”

As the ex-Horde soldiers grasped their weapons across their waist, preparing for a run, Lonnie grabbed Adora by her elbow.

“Do you want a stim dose? Just in case?”

In her other hand was a short syringe, its cylinder absorbing a streak of chemically yellow light from Lonnie’s helmet. Adora stuttered mentally and attempted in vain to recall why she should. Stories had filtered down to them as cadets about stim. If a soldier was in dire straits, back to the wall and completely drained of endurance, soldiers would use their stim dose as a burst of adrenaline to get them through. It would grant a temporary boost to speed, power, and mental focus, but had a high chance to drive the user a tiny bit insane. Hallucinating or raging insane. _But my shoulder is useless. It might just save my life._

“Just in case,” she slipped it into one of her belt pouches.

Lonnie pushed Adora’s good arm with the side of her fist, “Make sure you do it before you lose use of your other shoulder.”

“I’m not gonna live that down, am I?” Heran’s ridges rippled.

The two ex-Horde soldiers snickered and replied together, “Nope.”

* * *

Scorpia had never understood why someone would vomit before battle.

She did now.

As Perfuma placed a calming hand on her palpitating knee for the eighth (or ninth?) time, she knew this was nothing like her previous Horde missions. Those were always a delight—clobbering heads, planting the Horde standard, getting lifted aloft by the cheers around her. But here, someone had swapped out Scorpia’s heart for a base drum operated by a sugared-up squirrel, though she had no idea how or when. Those heads she had clobbered were crouching next to her, hidden by a fallen decaying maple. Her failures meant lives were at stake—her _friends’_ lives—and if the Princesses fell, Etheria would follow as a moth with one wing tip touching hot wax. It is a universally staggering burden, the sudden realization of how many people one’s decisions affect.

The darkness behind her eyelids wiped her clean. _Brave. Loyal. Gives great hugs._ Their proximity wobbled, allowing Glimmer back into their midst.

“Ready now.”

Beneath the shallow slope of Perfuma’s brow, eyes blinked and misted over with sea foam green. Scorpia embraced a cavernous inhale, of must and a dusty floral scent (that was probably a Princess power she had yet to develop). Opening the flood gates to her limbs, she called to the familiar static in her mind, and released.

A hundred rivulets of electricity crawled out of her skin, snapping, flying off into the clearing ahead. _Well this is new_ , Scorpia thought. Instead of a single major bolt, it opened like a fishing funnel of finely woven strands. Her target tank seemed to lurch sideways, caught. The illumination lent a murderous tinge to the rampage of nearby vines, furiously snaking over themselves as they clambered onto another tank. And next she knew, the two of them were in a copse of closely grown elm. Without Glimmer.

“Stars, she is getting _good_.”

Scorpia vigorously nodded. Other tanks maneuvered around the disabled pair and fired. Their previous hiding spot exploded, the patch of woodland expelling chunks of wood and dirt in overexaggerated arcs.

“I’ve never seen your lightning do that before!” Perfurma burbled excitedly. “What did you change?”

“Well, um…I thought about…hugs?”

The Captain heard the doubt in Perfuma’s stammer, possibly before even Perfuma did.

“H-hugs, interesting. I guess I can see how that works…”

There wasn’t an ounce of certainty in those whispers. Scorpia put her nervousness in a headlock.

“So, they’re in a tiny cave of vines beside your tank, right?”

“Mmm-hmm. I really hope the Horde doesn’t think to look for them there.”

“You were telling us about what Heran thought up for your life sense. Can you sense any patrols? Or soldiers?”

“That’s...that’s a great idea!”

Straining against distance and night’s dampening curtain, Scorpia sought out sources to the echoing shouts and thumping footsteps. Seemed they were attempting to get the deadened tank back online. The ten-foot high mass of vines next to them looked like a rookie at Hide-and-Seek, its barrel sticking out awkward but proud.

“There’s a group of them by our old hiding spot. I think they’re snooping around for any signs.”

Frustration was mounting for their enemy, barbed words spattering louder as time ran on. _That would’ve been me,_ Scorpia crumpled her forehead in thought. _What would I have done next?_ The Horde’s protocol prattled down its one-way street. _Glimmer and Frosta must still be sorting out the Magnifier._ A light stick and helmet bulbs shrouded one of the newly arrived tanks with an eerie glow, leaving it well defined in the background.

“I’m gonna try something,” she lifted a pincer, tongue tip out.

The Plumerian’s jittering hum rode on the back of Scorpia’s growing force powers. A creak and two-toned whine captured everyone’s attention, changing Horde’s verbal faucet from tepid to hot. Perfuma gasped as the lower edge of the tank turret crinkled like a belt pulled tight around a gut. The hubbub escalated, hatch flung open with a child-like cry by the unfortunate driver, and more shadows flocked around.

Two stunned jaws swung open, their owners reeling blissfully in the discovery. Not blissfully enough, however, to prevent an equally stunned high five.

“Hugging is now my super power!” Scorpia whispered with sheer exuberance.

“Yesss! That’s amaz—ooooohh no.”

Perfuma’s hand locked down on her friend’s mouth as her life sense pinged on a patrol headed their way. _Six of them. Two tripping over every little twig, one keeping her distance to the side—_

 _On_ our _side!_

Freeing Scorpia, she poked her shoulder carapace six times, then laid her hand flat like Adora had taught them, signaling _“Wait_. _”_ The patrol chirped back and forth, unworried about being detected. A baritone deep enough to crack a sapling told them all to shut up. Perfuma couldn’t pinpoint which one they were, but forged ahead anyway, shoving a root up out of the ground to shin height. Instantly and impeccably, one of the clumsiest at the rear did his best newborn fawn impression over the obstacle. His surprised yelp made her smile. _And then there were five,_ she warmed with pride, quietly returning the root to its bed.

Relief settled on them like sunset’s inherent slowness. The commotion would deter their patrol for a while. The blonde tried picturing their area, concentrating with all her effort to think like a soldier; her thoughts filled instead with plant names, their growth stages, and health. _Who_ wouldn’t _want to check out those furred violets?! They come out—_

“Scorpia, was that you?! Why haven’t you done that bfmph?”

Hands and knees flailing, Perfuma launched herself at the abruptly appearing Glimmer and her running mouth. _Was she already talking_ before _she teleported?!_ Her racing heart was the upbeat high-hat to Scorpia’s base, waiting to hear any reaction. There was none. Just the screen of trees holding their breath. When Perfuma reignited her life sense, the running forms streaked across her awareness and mentally bowled her over.

“Scorpia!”

The white-haired goliath cut a wave of force into the dark forest and slammed their attackers backward. A couple were smashed against trunks. Mr. Clumsy twirled at least eight times before crashing to a halt. Perfuma plunged her hands into the earth. Plants ensnared armored limbs blindingly swift. Soldiers gagged as stems twisted around their necks. A twitch in her biceps and her lower left eyelid betrayed her conflict, at the distaste of controlling unwilling, living beings.

“Shades, I’m sorry,” Glimmer said softly. “Are they alone?”

“Seems like.”

“But,” Scorpia leapt in, “Their helmets have comms.”

Glimmer tapped her cheek, tossing ideas around. She approached the tallest soldier and snapped to teleport his helmet off.

“I _definitely_ want to hurt you,” she squinted up at his hardened frown, “But a good friend asked that we spare you all, in case you have a change of heart.”

The man’s laugh was pathetic and airy without his voicebox to aid, “Of _course_ you’d try to sweet talk ussss.”

The unbridled menace in the queen’s laugh achieved the desired fear effect. Perfuma shuddered at the gravel in Glimmer’s tone.

“Oh no, I don’t sweet talk _murderers_ , but: you don’t want to negotiate either, so let’s—”

“ _Exo squad, check in. What was the movement in your quadrant?_ ”

A slimy grin leaked through the sieve of the man’s drawn face, his chin and cheeks infected with beard stubble. Glimmer’s scowl would’ve given off smoke had it been set to dry kindling.

“Knock ‘em out, Perfuma,” she ordered. “We need to retreat.”

Scorpia spluttered, “Wh-what? We can’t leave n—”

As soon as the thumps of plant limb on skull rang out, Glimmer teleported them to yet another woodland scene. They huddled close in a hollow large enough for four fifths of the Princess Alliance, honey suckle and brambles in a domed thicket above them.

“I’m not going to leave Frosta. That was a ruse for their benefit,” Glimmer whispered, tucking a piece of rose-colored hair out of her way, “To make them think we were.”

“Oo _ooo_ oooh,” chorused the other two.

“We need precision from here on out, as long as my blabbing doesn’t screw it up. Are you two ready? Frosta should be keeping an eye on the other tanks.”

Scorpia saluted with a pincer, “Do you want me to try to make a...a lightning net around the Magnifier?”

“If you feel confident about it.”

Gimmer responded evenly, the crease between her eyebrows dipping slightly. It reminded Scorpia of a tag-team fighter readying to throw a combo into an opening: this was a question being posed to an ally, an equal. How hard would her amethyst eyes turn if she failed? Could she withstand their disappointment?

“I am.”

“Then let’s show the Horde what they gave up,” Glimmer’s angles gleamed with light from her fists.

With minimal fluctuation, she transported them into a valley of three limbs in the Heart Blossom tree. They ducked low to be flush with their arboreal camouflage. Soldiers’ bickering roamed about like shrieking children in need of a nap—loud and ignorant of the actual problem. Glimmer pushed her hand outward and teleported Scorpia to the pocket of vines that housed the Princess of Snows. She sized up the now cross-legged empath, content poise so closely wrapped about her as if their union had eternally been. Perfuma’s classic beauty, elegant in stature and smile warm with welcome, was undeniable. Seeing her reunited with her land and runestone settled Glimmer’s anxiety a bit, from a pacing caged animal down to a dozing house cat.

She knew Perfuma’s parents had passed at a young age due to a rampant sickness. Since then, Plumeria’s Elder Council had been guiding her until she felt ready to take the throne. Was it the distractions of the Rebellion holding her back? An absence of want? _What does Queen of Plumeria mean to her?_ Glimmer wondered. As the blonde hinged her neck, waves of flaxen gold tickled her supple freckled sholders, and Glimmer thought of the vision she inadvertently sent to the Alliance. Perfuma had experienced it clearest of all, down to her defined, gaunt ache for something familiar. The queen had stayed as far away as possible from revisiting her imprisonment, and yet a nagging voice inside wouldn’t stop poking at the link between her new ability and Perfuma’s openness.

The prospect inevitably butted into her mindscape while at her dad’s bedside, watching his frail, prone body recover inch by measly inch. Between visits from the infirmary staff and the few pieces of business Amina allowed to be brought by, there had been little to do _but_ think at that time. Maybe projecting encouraging thoughts would have aided his emotional stability. But recreating the conditions from Prime’s headquarters struck Glimmer with a panic akin to being pushed off a cliff, inescapable sensations tearing by without any way to pull them closer to examine. Gladly, other duties took precedence, and it would have to wait.

Growing quieter by the minute, Glimmer’s excited pulse performed superbly at keeping her awake. A screech, multi-faceted and ear-splitting, sounded from the other side of the tree: another tank involuntarily discharged, courtesy of the Rebellion. She grinned and leaned back against the main trunk, as the ants of the Horde scurried by to address the new damage. Her plan for a gradual march of pandemonium, spread across a radius and over time, was executing nearly perfectly. The soldiers were caught up in trying to evaluate the wreckage that they hadn’t looked for the Princesses anywhere after their first salvo. They were too confused by whether there was a new Princess or not, let alone figuring out positioning. _And that should be the last one, too,_ she ticked them off in her head. Now all they had to do was stay out of sight until Perfuma finished communing.

But of course, the universe heard Glimmer’s hopes, and was obligated to laugh.

A flexible, tapered tube wrapped around an adjacent branch and swung its owner up to another underneath—the tentacled Force Captain who had shot her during their sting operation. She surveyed her surroundings methodically for targets, bending to look around leaf screens or create a different angle for seeking. Frosty terror gripped the queen, pinning her body and sense of humanity: carved into the captain’s arms and chest were the plates of a clone, identical to Catra’s. And now she had two eyes, twin iridescent orbs as eerie and apathetic as Horde Prime’s, which bored into Glimmer’s world.

The young woman held her breath. There was a slim chance, extra slim, that Octavia would continue on through the branches and not look up—

 _Nope_.

As soon as their eyes met, Glimmer teleported her out of the tree. Specifically, 50 feet up in the air near the clearing’s edge. Normally, the Force Captain’s shriek wavering as she fell would be comical. Instead, Glimmer leapt up to the next V intersection of limbs to peer down at the Magnifier. Up close, it was docile, more like a droid blasted apart in an artistic fashion. Three soldiers milled around by the core of it, though one’s head had turned at the sound of Octavia’s demise. They slapped their compatriots on the arm, pointing. _No, no, no, no!...c’mon Scorpia, this is your cue_ , Glimmer watched as the dot closed the distance—and incredibly fast, if the captain’s bulk was supposed to reflect a lack of agility. Though now she was part clone, and if Catra had been enhanced, it wouldn’t be out of place to expect it from this new...model? Soldier? Glimmer felt a part of her resist at objectifying a living being, enemy or not.

“Perfumaaaa,” she murmured as loud as she should, “How’re we doing?”

“I’m still trying to feel it out. It’s way...deeper than I thought.”

“Well...whatever you hear, keep on it. Let us handle the interference.”

The net globbed up around the Magnifier, tugging on Glimmer’s arm hair and sense of balance like a hiccup. The rudimentary bands jumped and popped, varying by width throughout. The sight gave her a small sense of accomplishment, their plan trudging onward. The soldiers frantically looked up and around at their new prison. Blazing across the grassy field and between the remaining trees, Octavia’s form was a blackened charcoal scar. She was closing on the Heart Blossom tree, and _fast._

Glimmer charged up her fist, magic essence turning her fingertips translucent, in preparation for the fight she knew would be colossal power versus hit and fade tactics. What she wasn’t expecting, though, was the arcing leap of the octowoman’s body from at least twenty feet away. Her impact ricocheted through dense heartwood into Glimmer’s hand and feet, and jolted the magic blast out of her. Octavia screeched as it shot into her jawline. She wildly flailed for Glimmer’s face, who, deciding to gamble, flinched and teleported them both away from Perfuma’s haven.

They tumbled into the grass, the queen feeling the pulp smeer against her arms as she skidded away. She called her father’s battlestaff to hand and lifted up off her heels. Her enemy came to as well, tentacles whipping out to trip something, anything. Glimmer teleported into the air just above and behind Octavia and rammed the staff into the base of her skull. It clanged uselessly off the plating. She felt her stomach drop out, and not in the good way. Like a heavy oak door thrown wide, Octavia spun into the strike and threw the young woman away in a whirlwind. There was no saving her landing. Glimmer felt some of her fingers strain, skin tearing when she grabbed for the ground, trying to stop herself.

 ** _Boom BOOM!_** Octavia stomped forward as if her boots could punch through Etheria, ending with a short hop. Glimmer phased back in a couple feet to the right, out of the crushing range of her opponent’s weight. Two tentacles shot out, but Glimmer rolled and swung her staff up, cutting through their rubbery bulk with a modicum of magic. Momentum flung them like dying fish, bumbling and flopping on the ground. Glimmer stood and glanced once to the tree. All seemed quiet. The glow from Scorpia’s magic behind the trunk silhouetted its base and roots, and thankfully revealed no extra figures coming to aid. _Yet_.

Attention back on her fight, Glimmer dashed forward, slid on her side, and teleported behind the octowoman at the last second. Her confusion gave Glimmer the split second she needed for a rear blast. Octavia dropped forward to a knee. Glimmer yelled—equal notes of triumph and anger—as she charged up the staff head with blinding essence and struck. Pushing off her skid of earth, she stabbed for a point three feet past Octavia’s spine, through her chin, through her skull. The last ditch, wriggling leap left her without support underneath, and Glimmer crashed to the ground.

And again, expended force rocketed her back while the compiled clone flew in the opposite direction. As her elbow raked through dirt and rough grass, a coppery smell sprayed up into her nose. Labored breaths made the scene in front of her waver. Barely, she made out Octavia’s roll, head over heels, and then standing as if from a pleasant nap.

“Are...you... _serious!?”_ Glimmer rose, inch by sore inch.

Slight tremors ran up her legs: an incoming heavy charge preceding hefty blows. Glimmer teleported to the side before the collision, but the Force Captain had learned. A tentacle darted out, wrapped around her, and pulled her into a meaty hammer—or fist, as they were normally called. Glimmer’s ribs heaved, shoving her breath through her throat like a pound of sand through a straw. Octavia sank then threw another punch into her hip that was Horde Prime’s old stomping grounds. Hot barbed stents ripped her nerves apart. The queen’s heart contracted, barring her in with visions of that sickly pear-colored haze and relentless eternity of torture. She blinked out of the tentacle’s grip and under the shade of the Heart Blossom tree’s lowest branches. Though air coursed through her like fiery poison, it was a chance to breathe. She braced herself on one enormous root that had curled up into a shelf near chest height.

“Glimmer!”

The high-pitched feminine voice was nigh unrecognizable from the depths of her flashback. Glimmer readied to pepper the charging form, when Octavia’s limbs convulsed in unnatural jerks. After a moment of clumsy flight, the half-clone and her momentum plowed a furrow into the dirt with her face. At last, she halted, struggling against an unseen captor.

“I’ve got it! Scorpia needs your help with the Magnifier!”

It was Frosta. _First Ones’ blessed Frosta!_

“Where’s the Horde?”

“Dunno, doesn’t quite matter...at the moment,” Frosta strained.

Glimmer gulped in a few steadying breaths, and called up images of the hiding spot where she had placed the Captain earlier. Color trails blurred together in a drunken delay as she teleported in next to Scorpia, almost tumbling into her chest. Scarlet light pulsed through cheek ridges and facial veins alike, and sweat drenched her skin. The tectonic plates of her teeth scraped against one another. Eruptions of cursing and the Magnifier’s sizzling electricity outside of their vine cave jerked Scorpia about like a marionette, and she fought for every movement.

“What do you need, Scorpia? How’re you doing?” Glimmer asked, staving off her tremble of fatigue.

“It’s getting too much. Each time they activate...each push, it’s like they built on the last one,” she grunted. “Are you sure you can’t...teleport some of the panels away?...or the cores?”

Reluctantly, Glimmer shook her head, “Entrapta wasn’t sure if it’d be, uh...destabilized? And what’d happen after. There’s no telling if Prime added anything, either.”

“Then we need to get out of here soon. I can’t...I’m sorry, it’s too strong.”

Another surge from the Magnifier yanked Scorpia’s head back, shooting off a mohawk of her red magic, and she quashed a cry of pain. Glimmer was consumed by the reaction to grab her, steady her friend in the present. The heady smell of exertion, their closeness, the web of unseen energy all around flashed her back to Adora in Shadow Weaver’s grasp years ago, where her own magic had been chained, and powerlessness had swallowed her whole. Right before she indulged in a monumental and vengeful wrath, that is. “ _That’s why we complement each other.”_

“If we know where others need help,” she whispered, words blowing dust off her tenacity, “Scorpia, hold on just a little longer. Wait out their next attempt to break your net, then I’ll bring you up to us and you put a net over the tree, okay? Or…or just us and the Heart Blossom.”

“Aye aye,” Scorpia managed.

Seconds later, Glimmer’s bird’s eye view from the canopy superimposed one of Entrapta’s blueprints onto the scene underneath her. Some elements were defined—the earth scars from troop and vehicle movements, and the hunks of metal parading as former tanks. The bubble surrounding the Magnifier dipped and swayed. The trio of Horde soldiers within, like poor experiment subjects, couldn’t science to save their lives, and yet they gesticulated wildly as if their excitement would help them find a resolution quicker. _Oooh I’ve already learned pushing a button harder doesn’t make it work better, guys,_ Glimmer tsked to herself.

But punch away they did, like hyped up teenagers on two hours of sleep. The final blast appeared to breach Scorpia’s magic. One soldier, pausing skeptically to avoid premature celebration, let out a whoop once they confirmed the effect was permanent. She couldn’t help but smile at their surprise when it reappeared—this time as a shield in front of them and not a prison around them. The bright shifting bands against the night were enough to distract the Horde away from Scorpia’s lit up form. They gave in to their awe, as if their joy was the spell responsible for this wonder. And Glimmer was fine with that. Because each second she could put into tackling her most demanding task thus far in her meager two decades of life was a gift.

The funny thing about magic, especially for teleporting, that thankfully no one had needed to explain to her was the amount of trust one had to fork over to uncertainty. Not until Glimmer had tried to teleport while holding a tray piled with egg toast and tea for her mom’s birthday did she realize it also involved thought and focus like any other mundane skill (she ended up mourning the tragic eggicide for days). Her powers had to be more than instinctual, though it’d be impossible, too, if she lost herself in the details. Transporting people was a fine balance between holding the particulars of a specific body in her mind, while not overcrowding the larger picture of how that body would exist in its new location.

The Magnifier was a different creature altogether. Glimmer took in its mess of wires, screens, cables, and plates, filtering each through her pupils of heather-colored determination. The pull on her essence foreshadowed a massive headache. It was like trying to drag Bow up over her windowsill by one hand, if Bow were the name of a two-ton lunar beetle. Reflected light from Scorpia’s net on the metallic surfaces shifted slowly to a carnation sheen from Glimmer’s magicks, but the Horde was oblivious. The three of them argued with flailing, potentially about where to direct the next blast. _The three of them..._

The leader of the Rebellion faltered, a blip interrupting her focus. There were no more tank pilots, no patrols, no additional soldiers beyond Octavia that had responded to all of this. _Where’d they all go?!_

“This is all connected!”

Perfuma’s revelation pierced her thoughts. The aftermath of Glimmer’s efforts backlashed and throbbed between her temples. For the moment, she dropped the attempt and sought to soothe it away with her palm.

“That’s what the Heart Blossom told you? That we’re...I mean, what’s connected?”

Swirling pinks and greens flowed in a circle beneath Perfuma’s meditating form. She hadn’t stirred save to talk. Glimmer could hardly process her words over the hum of the light streams and the layers of exhaustion residue in her mind.

“ _We_ are! The magic is!”

“Perfuma, we’re all keys to the Heart of Etheria. We knew that.”

Frosta jibed, bracing against a far limb as she continued controlling Octavia. With her usual sing song dissent, the Plumerian shook her head.

“No, I mean we’re _inter_ connected. Frosta, Scorpia, let’s—”

It was just another crash Glimmer heard. She took it in stride per usual, keeping her head in the game and out of a hollow, reactive fluster. Perfuma’s posture suddenly dissolved into goo, and she wilted backward onto her branch. To Glimmer’s left, two technicians by the Magnifier pored over data displays, while the contraption’s blue glow dulled into nothingness. The third of their group was peering at the base of the tree, where a ravine-like crack marred the Heart Blossom’s once immaculate surface.

Glimmer’s reality, in that next moment, teetered on the single fact that Perfuma was still not moving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish could claim Adora's need vs deserve protection concept is original, but I have to credit it from one of my friends I met in college, whom we identified as the human encyclopedia of our group. That mindset was a struggle for me growing up an athletic closeted lesbian with the equivalent of Adora's hero complex. I loved being there to protect my friends, especially my crushes, but I also realized they were tough enough to stand on their own. Feelings, amirite?
> 
> I was also glad to give Glimmer some solo ass-kicking time, because honestly that part of her needs more exposure. Looking forward to more deep dives into how their magicks interact with their runestones and the Heart.
> 
> In other news, I've found an etsy artist Elfinnovations who I'm hiring to do a Glimmadora commission for fairly reasonable prices. It's going to be based off their yet to come first kiss scene. Totally pumped.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.
> 
> EDIT 9/21/2020: In rewatching the series for continual research, I got to Destiny Pt 1 and heard Glimmer mention she was the only Princess who has to recharge. I've overlooked that and thought all Princesses had to recharge, which you may have noticed throughout AtS. It's my belief that magic in fantasy worlds can't be without cost, because limitless power is boring. Sure it's canon divergence, but I hope one that enriches the She-Raverse. You'll see by now that the Princesses are able to keep a larger store of magic in them after accessing the Heart--still not infinite, though.


	15. Elevated Material

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5. Only minor alterations to the canon, namely that all Princesses need to refill their store of magic from their runestone like Glimmer did before she became queen.

Adora rubbed between her second and third knuckles. A streamer of pain strung down through her hand. Muscle and tendon ached something fierce, reaching for their other half across the divide in attempts to mend. The rebels had lost over a third of their forces to the Horde’s surprise attack, and the threat of more air strikes still loomed. Their heart and home terrain advantage had been barely enough to challenge the enemy occupation when they had first arrived. But now? Five measly ships were fencing them in, circling for the kill.

She punched the tree again, with the side of her fist this time. Which made her remember her shoulder injury, and bend over, and brace her forearm to lessen the weight, and swallow a moan. The ships had pulled out of range after the ex-Horde cannons had brought down two. _And maybe one more crippled by our mages._ They and the medics were scrounging together inadequate supplies, light, and facilities (if any) to tend to the injured. The army’s anxious clumps of thoughts weren’t strung out far enough along the perimeter to dilute their frenetic buzzing. What the plan was now, which officers to listen to, whether to chance going back for equipment and weapons. Adora had to get away, just for a moment, for herself.

The moons were higher; all Rebels were gifted a passable awareness of their surroundings. Symbiotic species of gray dotted the woodland. Whereas Bright Moon’s aroma was crisp and fresh like a spring storm, Plumeria was sweet and warm. At times it dampened Adora’s optimism, to see such a peaceful place be crushed by violence. To force an entire people, of legendary generosity and hospitality, to adopt war or perish. Over the years, the land and sky and sea taught Adora quite handily all the gorgeous reasons why non-Horde Etherians grew up wanting to do something else besides fight.

She tried, _honestly_ tried not to judge that trait as a setback. The compassion and indomitable joy in those she met were infectious. They were gaining enough of a foothold inside her to compete with—and win against—her martial side for territory. Less and less she asked herself the addictive “What If’s.” Consequently, more and more often, she could actually sit with the sole purpose of relaxing. Her record was up to 83 seconds currently.

Quietly, Halbur stepped out from behind a screen of a citrus smelling trees and into the warrior’s reflections. Dusty black curls framing her face made it seem to float about, a spirit among the shadows.

“Adora? You coming back?”

She scoffed lightly, “Of course. Did you think I was running off?”

“No, I...no, I didn’t know if you needed more time.”

“Sure, I’ll head back with you, major.”

Their walk shuffled through short undergrowth, stirred up dried treefall. Hiding themselves from potential eavesdroppers, bits of low conversation hustled around them. The mood was a dense mix of wariness and restfulness. Whines and groans of pain became their white noise, reluctantly the norm for the past hour.

Halbur coughed, “I’d like to apologize, for my comments in the War Council chambers the other day. I wasn’t trying to blame you for low morale.”

“No, no I never thought that. I was...coming to terms with the situation. And,” Adora ducked under a branch, “You were just stating the truth. Losing a weapon as big as She-Ra was a hard blow.”

“Did you really defy First Ones’ magic?”

“...I did.”

“And destroying the Sword saved Etheria?”

Adora faltered, a click hitting the roof of her mouth. The handful of times she had thought about the fallout, she ended with the mantra that it was the right choice. Then she would toss those evaluations into another compartment, to be opened and rifled through later. When Halbur put it out there, blunt as a wooden club hitting a steak, her distance from processing those thoughts turned starkly apparent.

“That’s one way to look at it.”

“ _Shades_...that’s must’ve been difficult. What was it like?”

“What have you heard?”

“That it was unbelievable pain. I mean, sometimes I don’t always trust the Princesses’ gauges, but I do Scorpia’s. She said it was like her skin was being turned inside out.”

Adora bobbed her agreement, “Imagine five times that strength. That’s what it was like.”

The woman next to her blanched, “How...how did you...”

“She-Ra was built to take that type of damage.”

“Well sure, that’s how you’re in one piece afterward. But you still had to go through all of that. You still felt _every_ thing.”

A hundred and one comebacks jostled around in her head, all tracing back to duty or friends. None of them quite measured up to what she thought Halbur was expecting, so Adora remained silent.

“Thank you,” Halbur said quietly.

“I’m not sure I deserve that, but…you’re welcome.”

“You’ve been in the military. You know that every good decision usually comes with some bad ones.”

“Yeah, but—”

 _Dooming the Rebellion? Erasing She-Ra?_ Adora stopped herself a second time. Middle of the forest. Horde troops lurking in the wings. Morale yet again threadbare. This wasn’t the place to talk failures.

“Look, y-you’ve probably got a lot on your mind, and everyone usually treats it so delicately. I wanted you to know I appreciate all you’ve done.”

Adora smirked wistfully, “I don’t always need the words. I get thanks in people living their lives and...and helping each other.”

They had reached the command gathering, and Halbur held a flowering bush back to let her through. The break in the canopy made Halbur’s pale skin brighten to the point of liquid silver. Her voiced warmed with implication.

“As long as you keep living your life, t-too.”

Adora murmured dangerously, walking in, “Try to make me feel good about one mistake, and then bring up another.”

“Don’t worry about it. I mean, who’s not a bumbling mess when it comes to love—”

“Not helping, major.”

“Right.”

Bow, a frightening glow about him, jogged up after what seemed like ditching another group of officers in midsentence.

“Soooo...heard about your shoulder.”

“Horde take me! Really? The _Primes_ have probably heard by now.”

“Hey—calm that temper or I’m not gonna let you feed your driving need to run headlong into danger.”

Narrowed blue eyes jumped up and down his silhouette, “You got a crazy plan?”

“The craziest.”

“Hit me.”

“I was talking to Swifty and remembered that you’re not only at the top of the Advocates for Sword Safety list. The Horde wants you, too.”

“This isn’t named ‘Mission: Restore Self-Esteem,’ is it?”

“Hush, you. Now, we’re gonna position Lonnie’s cannons in a couple of trees just to the east, then send you up on Swift Wind with a blaster rifle.”

“Bow, that weapon wouldn’t even dent an antenna.”

“Right, you’re not meant to damage. We just need the Horde to _think_ that’s what you’re doing. The cannons are for the dirty work.”

“...so I get injured, and you make me the bait.”

Out came Bow’s sparkling eyes and curled-lip smile. He nodded emphatically.

“That’s not crazy,” Adora decided.

“I-it’s not?”

“It’s _insane_. And,” she held up a finger, to fill out her admonishing look, “You’re no longer allowed to berate me for lacking a sense of self-preservation. For the next week, at least.”

He blinked in shock, “Berate? Self-preservation? Don’t wanna stereotype, but where are you picking up new vocab?”

She was cut off as a chorus of gasps and mild cheers flared out from the direction of the abandoned camp. A pair of short figures threaded through the gathering crowd and ran toward them. Adora would recognize that moonlit form anywhere, unconsciously stepping toward Glimmer and her distress.

“Glimmer? Frosta! Is everything okay?” Bow took his friend by the arms.

“No, no everything is _not_ okay!” she swallowed, fighting back tears. “Perfuma won’t respond to anything. She just, she just fell, a-and didn’t wake up! And now, I don’t know what to do, ‘cause she seems perf-fectly normal...”

Ushering everyone out of range of easy hearing, Adora gave them each a once over. Frosta’s usually collected self was slipping, hijacked by Glimmer’s rapid babble. Scrapes, tunic out of sorts at her belt, and a fresh smell of smothered dirt bragged that Glimmer had been in some sort of fight. _Huh, and Frosta didn’t join in?_ Bow was offering them both water from his hip flask. Glimmer brought them up to speed as coherently as possible. Their gentle prodding kept her words from straying, with Frosta jumping in to summarize if she rambled at length.

“Scorpia’s with her, in the portal burrow. I thought it’d be safest, being close to the Heart Blossom a-and in the earth, y’know?” Glimmer’s fingers raked through her hair, conveying emotions exactly opposite of her composed words.

“I’d agree,” said Bow.

“What I don’t get,” Adora wondered, “Is why damaging the Heart Blossom would affect her. She was able to fight when the Horde was poisoning it, back when we first met her. And nothing happened to you or your mom when the Moonstone was attacked.”

“Really? I mean, it’s not like _other_ weird stuff has been happening with our runestones and abilities,” Frosta layered on her sarcasm extra thick.

Bow and Adora shrugged, accepting, “Eh.”

Glimmer’s eyes widened, “Oh no…she was still communing with it when it was hit. What if….aaah, what if part of her is trapped in there?”

Bow and Frosta shared a fragile glance, which threatened to break both of them if they held it more than a couple moments. The blonde clamped down with her jaw, valiantly trying to project her calm façade onto her worried friend.

“We have one top tier mage with us here. You should probably take him with,” she told Glimmer.

“What did Perfuma tell you you about the magic? What was it linked to?” asked Bow.

“I didn’t really understand. Something about us all being connected.”

Frosta snapped her fingers, “Yeah, yeah! She wanted me and Scorpia to do...uh, something...with her...”

“I was thinking maybe...maybe I try sending her my thoughts again. Erggh, I can’t…”

Glimmer paced. Both her hands seized, tightening into frustrated, shaking, child-like fists. The rest gave her as much space as they could in such close quarters. Some vulnerabilities reared their ugly heads at the worst of times.

“I think both ideas are a good start,” Adora voiced, deepening her tone in reassurance.

Bow rubbed between Glimmer’s shoulder blades, “Me too.”

“I could really use an anchor there with me.”

Her final request was gentle, easing into their circle, not that anyone would remember so later. The lavender in those eyes flitted up, and Adora searched their depths, the want to acquiesce fighting fervently against her constricting throat. Closest friend, sworn duty, and temporary combat weakness rolled into one. But if Glimmer’s next goal was weeding in a mind garden to foster a profound, complex magic connection, Adora knew her feelings would only realize as a major distraction. Glimmer turned pale, face drooping, having read in Adora’s decision in her tiny frown.

“You should take Bow. He’s close with both you and her, and he’d be better for any randoms I’d overlook. He’s got that logical genius thing going on,” Adora circled her open hand at the archer. “Plus, Swifty and I apparently have an appointment to make a dance partner out of some Horde ships.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a smarter move,” Glimmer blew out a breath.

“Hey, don’t you back yourself down on this,” Adora squeezed her upper arm. “You’re a badass. You’ll figure it out.”

Nearby heartfelt grins blazed with agreement. Seeeping through Glimmer’s sleeve and into Adora was a timid flush of warmth. It stirred up one of her own, of pride in the ability to pull her friend out of a funk. Superficial only—defeat persisted in the set of Glimmer’s jaw and the tendon standing to attention at her elbow. Adora ran her palm down, smoothing the linen wrinkles, craving skin contact, gripping a little stronger. These were the moments that struck pangs within her, sour vortexes that sucked her chest inward. These were the wrongs that could’ve been easily righted with the Sword of Protection and She-Ra. These were the reactions that drove home nails of regret.

To shut out the world, Glimmer carefully closed her eyes and joined her hand with Adora’s. She held it there, gathering all she could from that artless, unassuming touch. And the stunned warrior let her energy go without a second thought. The transfer completed too quickly.

“Okay…let’s go, Bow.”

As her best friend slipped away, donning the robes of the dutiful queen once more, Adora’s numb fingers sank deeper into loneliness.

* * *

“Hallo, you’re up late.”

Isim pulled his wondrous gaze down from the sky and sated it with the hulking form of Megofas instead. They stepped into the fire light and plunked down a stock piece of wood for their seat. The boy gingerly shuffled his head scarf over top of his crusty brown hair. The grotto of its cotton shell reflected the flames inward, onto cutting eyes and high cheekbones.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Megofas grunted, “Watch out, there’s a case o’ that going ‘round.”

The minotaur set a circle of dry flatbread on a forked stick and began waving it over the coals to toast. They dug into a side pouch and produced a wad of oil cloth.

“You’re young to be out here, eh?”

The boy bounced his eyelids once, as if to say _Yep, and?_

“Did the others ask you to come? Or did you volunteer?”

“I volunteered,” Isim said with a monotone, indignant edge.

“What sorta background y’got?”

“I’ve fought others for practice, and we have….mmm, Counting games on horseback.”

“And what are those?”

“They’re like your sparring. We learn to use our clubs on each other, with padded jackets. You count how many times you hit others.”

“Aaah, interesting. How good are you?”

Isim adjusted his back against his bedroll, “I’m very good with the staff. I usually lose my Counting matches.”

Another grunt, but longer, “Why’d you volunteer?”

Popping from the fire threw hiccups into the conversation’s rhythm. Patient Megofas removed their flatbread and tore it into several pieces, then opened the oil cloth and scooped up a dark brown paste. The boy still hadn’t answered.

“You don’t have to share, but if y’ask me,” they went on, “I think the Horde took someone close to you.”

He squinted, black brow jutting out protectively above his anger and confusion.

“Well…look at this camp, kid. Look at the _Rebellion_. It’s not like I guessed outta the blue.”

Megofas watched the small body loosen and return to contemplation in the leaping, waving flames. They smeared their food up around the roof of their mouth, savoring the taste of melted oils, spices, and shredded mushrooms. Just the kind of reward that made boring watches worthwhile.

“The way I see it, most of our rebels are here fer th’wrong reason. They won’t rest ‘til they get their piece o’the people that killed their loved ones, or destroyed their home.”

Isim balked, “Why is that wrong _?_ They deserve to be punished.”

Darkly placid and deep bovine eyes assessed him, large enough to seek out and pour criticism onto every twitch of his body.

“It’s a dangerous line of thinking,” they swallowed, “To respond to killing with more of it, ‘cause who’ll stop that cycle? Will your revenge killing make our enemies take steps to kill me? Or your family?”

“So, we should just lay down and let them conquer us?” Isim lashed out with heat.

“Don’t be an idiot, boy. We should always defend our home, but it needs t’be mindful. Not just emotion. Respondin’ back in the same way makes you no better than a petty victim.”

He chuckled dryly, “Right. And why did _you_ volunteer?”

“Because there’s injustice that needs t’be settled and resolved, and it affects all of Etheria.”

In the shadows of the clean night, a garbled voice broke their circle, arguing with a night terror and eventually settling. Isim’s sullen mood began to boil.

“Does your father know you’re here, Jai?”

He snapped his head up.

“H-how did you know?”

“You have Brizeus’ face, no doubt. And the sparrin’ match. Meadowlanders have callouses like leather by the time they’re your age, on wrist and hand. You shouldn’t even have registered that pain today, but everyone watchin’ knew you felt it. Now, answer my question.”

“He probably hasn’t noticed, just gets up every day and looks after Corvis and me…like he’s given up on everything else. Mom and him always thought I was too young to fight.”

“Won’t he go looking fer you?”

“Eventually. I’ve been out riding for days all the time. I have at least a week more.”

“It was a good disguise. If you hadn’t slipped up against Lonnie, I wouldn’t a’ thought twice.”

“Dad’s from the Meadowlands. Used to tell us stories from there…he was the one who taught me riding and Counting.”

Megofas chewed their last morsels and nodded, briefly reliving separate memories in the shared nostalgia.

“Are you going to tell anyone?”

They grunted, “Y’wanna be treated like a grown adult, you’ll do that on yer own. But…you better start thinkin’ ‘bout why you really want to be here. Don’t make it about them.”

“Wha…? It’s not! It’s about my _mom!_ ” Jai slammed the ground with his fists.

“Oh really?” the minotaur drew the word out skeptically, showing teeth. “And she would’ve wanted you to _kill_ people in her honor?”

“She was the _general_ of the Rebellion!”

“Aye, and a great one. Did you ever bother asking her why she took the job?”

“N—…no…”

He deflated like an empty skin sack. After the flex of his tantrum, his arms spasmed and released. He wanted to disappear into the earth. Of the potential debates for his late-night star gazing, Jai had never expected this to be one: regretting years wasted of ignoring his mom’s sacrifice. For her country, their king and queens, her soldiers, her own family. Didn’t she want to pay the Horde back for the lives and years they had taken?

At their full height, Megofas was colossal, and even more so colored with the marigold light from the dying coals. Their mass was a magnet for Jai’s stare.

“You and your company are teaching us riding tomorrow. Get some sleep, boy.”

* * *

“Right as rain,” the mage’s clunky cadence swam back into Glimmer’s reality, “ ‘Cept she’s out like an owl at dawn, ‘course. Cannae find anythin’ else wrong.”

Glimmer massaged from her cheek up into her temple. The party of dull throbbing in her skull was still going strong. Perfuma lay in repose, completely slack in an unconsciousness that twinned death. The blanket they had brought her attracted shadows from the portals’ steady glow, as did wrinkles in the robes of the old, papery sage. Bow had set a lantern and emergency medical pack on a marker stone, and she had to admit the yellow of the oil lamp coated their gathering in homeliness, as if this were nothing more than a late night of reminiscing and inebriation at the slightly blurry level.

“Thank you, Nelis. I guess,” Glimmer tiptoed over to Perfuma’s head, “I’m just gonna dive in.”

“Remember: it’s just teleporting an object with a different composition,” said Bow.

“And the destination,” she countered.

“Well...yeah, true.”

“Which is hidden.”

“And that.”

“Plus it’s part of a whole, Bow, and I’ve already—”

“ _Done_ this before,” he reminded her. “Muscle memory and all that. Let’s do this, badass.”

Glimmer’s lips pursed into a smile, and freed her captive breath.

She sifted out her clearest memories. Perfuma’s hug when the Princess Alliance rescued her. Their first rest on the hike with Bow at the overlook teeming with pastel daisies. The scene of installing the star mirrors in her room stepped easily from the fog bordering her imagination. She envisioned precarious balancing and arguing over the positions. Adora would’ve undoubtedly struggled to keep them on task, a shallow line in her neck collecting shadow as she looked up. And maybe, just maybe, the rare gift of her unbridled laugther. It hadn’t been around for some time.

 _No, no, focus on Perfuma._ Birdsong laughter, indelible need to keep balance, defaulting to meditation to solve _every_ —

From skull to base of the spine and all stops in between, Glimmer’s bones flooded with pain as she slammed down onto the tight-packed earth.

“Augh! ... _blasted_...well, that’s out of the question.”

“Glimmer!”

A different hardness slipped under her arm: Scorpia scooping her upright with a pincer. Bow ran around to her other side.

“No go?”

“Uh uh. I tried using the best memories I could pick out. Like, the last couple days,” Glimmer shook out the daze and blinked.

“Mem’ries? Mmmm, ‘at’s yer mistake,” Nelis grunted.

“It can’t be,” Glimmer told him. “What I sent them last time was happening right then and there.”

“From what ah ken of magic, mem’ries are still attached t’you, t’yer emotions. You’ve got t’give ‘er just wot happened, not how y’felt.”

Glimmer brushed at her neck, clearing off flecks of dirt, “ _Just_ what happened? I mean, how?”

“All right, okaaay,” Bow punched his open hand, “Cut out the emotions. Be like stone...be like...”

“Huntara. Ha! Looks like that—”

Her original invocation of the phrase ripped through her levity. Beatings from the clones. A desert of cold metal. Calm, malicious green knots for eyes. _Keep. It. Simple._ Glimmer gritted her teeth, thought she heard one of them pop. With the giants doing jumping jacks in her head, truth and perception tangled together into chaotic mess.

Bow cupped her elbow and thumbed a firm J along the meat of her forearm. The massage slid over sore lines from her bout against Octavia, and she brought her reeling mind back from the brink. _Actions. Events. Pictures...pictures._ This was a teleportation—she needed to know where the memories stopped, feel where her feelings began. _I’m not Glimmer there, only an observer,_ she coached herself. She put herself standing at the edge of the holographic map table in the council room.

Memories popped up individually, as the mental towns and villages in the fuchsia framework so familiar to the Rebellion commander. She moved the grasses with the wind on their hike, brought out the cottony wisps over Perfuma’s ears. She colored in the shifting pink of the flowers Perfuma used as cover during the rescue mission, sketched out the fluid valley of at her elbows when calling the blossoms forth. Glimmer tapped on them to zoom in, to cut out any stowaway emotions until she could grasp the bare minimum.

Teleporting into the complete unknown, like trying to relieve an overfull bladder while pawing around a pitch dark privy, could end up with hazardous results (which one was _more_ hazardous, she wasn’t certain). It was incredibly dicey under normal circumstances, yet here she was, blindly constructing what a brain’s framework might be. Lobbing the thoughts into Perfuma’s physical head and hoping for the best would’ve been an option for her younger headstrong self. With other unknowns, Glimmer could use her surroundings to accurately estimate her new location with relative distance. Brains were four steps up in complexity from what the Sorcerer’s Guild knew of their truth and manipulation spells. Each was an intricate tapestry, where tugging on a single altered on a dozen woven interactions. So her older and infinitesimally less headstrong self was overtly aware that hoping for the best would muddle the message.

Glimmer employed her magic like a dowsing rod, not too decisive, not too vague, as her guide to Perfuma’s mind. Soon enough, a vibration encircled her package of images like a column of light through cloud break. She probed further and it intensified to a rising chorus—deafening, crushing, nightmarish. Wave after wave of sirens rolled over every sense and depth of Glimmer. _Is this Perfuma’s mind? Is this why she hums her words?_ She clung to that proposal, using her uncertainty to paddle while adrift in a foreign, thrumming sea. Bow’s touch morphed into a comforting sleeve. A sharp pain throbbed in the exact center of her head, and it seemed to grow after each pulse, pushing out like a frantic insect in a spider web casing.

“Glimmerrrr...you’re not lookin’ so hot,” Scorpia worried from the corner of her mouth.

“It’s okay,” she squirmed, “Something’s...something’s fighting me, but I think—”

The swelling jolted her, rolling over a rut in a road. Her skull wanted to explode. But just as suddenly, it stopped, then dunked her into a bath of pure comfort. If what she had just trudged through was the deep end of resistance, this was its opposing undertow, just as strong in its want to heal. The individual chords of her dad’s brazen laughter. Each pad of Adora’s hand and their pressure against her muscle. The ribbon of sweet lemon tied about Bow’s hugs. All of their pieces, all as one wiped her clean. The change sent her into a whirlwind. Emotions ran wild.

 _Wait,_ Glimmer mulled over a single thought, _something wants?_

An image sat before her: Perfuma meditating in her Heart Blossom tree. The mindscape background was a black, featureless curtain, and the young woman was drawn by a soft white chalk. Her lines wavered and danced, creating a layer of movement over her sitting figure. The drawing of Perfuma opened its eyes, prone parentheses opening to the tiniest of windows. Yet through them, Glimmer understood she was viewing some reality, some essence, some _thing_ much, much greater than the Real Perfuma. Or any version of her friend. Or all of them combined.

And then she fell into that indescribable expanse. Into the same sensation of waking into a dream and being the only one who knew everything was your imagination.

 _But this isn’t my imagination. It’s Perfuma’s, right?_ Glimmer batted at the distractions, struggling to hear herself think. Her garbled mind was utterly familiar with and equally estranged from this endless vision. No definable image stuck with her, yet Glimmer would be able to recall specifics when real world events jogged her memory. Stabilizing, coming back to her purpose, the queen unceremoniously shoved her thoughts, her collection of memories, forward. She imagined holding them like a shield around her, their images an overlay of rippling light on her stained and torn violet tunic. That unconscious hold on her body’s boundaries returned. Suddenly Perfuma’s hazel irises blinked up at her, paled by the lamplight and very, very real.

Glimmer’s cheeks (and everything) were sore as she smiled, “You’re back.”

“Did you see it, too?!” the blonde popped up. “Did you see the connection?”

“I am...”

Glimmer started, but never finished. She jerked back awake, Nelis catching her arm as she teetered toward the dirt floor.

“Whuf, I need a lie down soon,” she nodded her thanks, and filled her lungs. “I’m not sure I saw a connection, but I did see Etheria.”

Bow settled into his heels, contemplating, as did Nelis while combing his short beard.

“Come again?” Nelis turned his chin inquisitively.

“There was something else with me in there, pushing back. When Perfuma communed with the Heart Blossom, she tapped into the Heart of Etheria. But all that is is Etheria herself, right? The First Ones _took_ all that magic out of the planet.”

“So, Etheria is the connection?” Bow asked.

“No no, forget the connection for a minute. When the Princesses refill their magic, we’ve only been...hmm, dipping our waterskins into a stream.”

Perfuma positively shook with excitement, “But now we can go _into_ the stream!?”

Glimmer nodded, “And the Heart got attacked indirectly, when your runestone was hit with the Magnifier blast, so it reacted like any other wild creature. It curled up around you, or at least the part of you left in its stream.”

“Her consciousness.”

Scorpia sounded tranced in her reply. After a beat, Bow gawked at her, jaw slightly drooped, and she turned tomato instantly.

“Wh-what? It’s hard _not_ to pick up on what you guys talk about.”

“No, it’s great!” Perfuma grinned, taking up her pincer. “We’re happy to hear you come out more.”

“Maybe this is how you start giving back the Heart. Do the Princesses need to connect with their stones and start in on this?” Bow hunched forward, theories running like sand rifts across his forehead.

“Only one way to tell,” Scorpia frumped her lips in her signature defeat-acceptance combo. The young man at her side patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“Let’s tackle that another time. Plumeria needs us right now.”

“One last question, yer Majesty. Is Etheria gettin’ a mind of ‘er oon?” Nelis pried.

“I don’t think so. If she is, she seems to know the two of us mean her no harm. She eventually let me past her safeguard to contact Perfuma.”

“If Etheria has a mind, why would it let Light Hope try to destroy her? It would protect Perfuma, but not herself?” Bow’s questions were pointed, voice small.

“It seems like every piece we wedge into place leads to a more complicated puzzle,” Glimmer sighed. _When will it end?_

Nelis’ laugh was far from jovial.

“ ’At’s the nature of magic. If t’were simple, we would _all_ be sorcerers, and then she wouldn’a be special.”

In spite of his wisdom and experience, the young queen couldn’t accept that. She rose, shored herself up, dusted off her knees. The monumental task ahead would not wait, next in the ever-growing, ever more monumental list of tasks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Material is a term in chess for determining a piece's or move's worth. IE a pawn's move generally isn't strong material, until that move puts an opponent's king in mate, or how a bishop's position could leave it useless if it's not threatening anything.
> 
> Writing the metaphysical is kinda rough, I'll admit. How to make things interesting without movement, only thoughts and sensations? It was weird. And I'm wondering if anyone caught onto Isim's identity before Megofas confronted him.
> 
> Looking forward to more combat, progress, and a reunion in the next!
> 
> Shout out to Magneta_K and their excellent Korrasami fic Monsters in the Fog (https://archiveofourown.org/works/22572445), a supernatural detective AU. They have a great voice, eye for character layers, and weaving plotlines together. Highly recommended.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	16. Queen Hung by Lightning Bolt, Rook by Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5. Only minor alterations to the canon, namely that all Princesses need to refill their store of magic from their runestone like Glimmer did before she became queen.

“Frosta?”

“That’s me.”

“Tell me again this is a good plan.”

“I thought you asked us never to lie to you.”

Several stories above the Plumerian wilds, Adora sat atop Swift Wind with Frosta at her back. Swifty floated up and down with his wing beats, as close to hovering as he could manage. As she sighted along her raised blaster, dots glinted on the horizon in the moonlight: Horde ships coming their way. Adora had already named them _Inevitable_ and _Demise_ (that was still being optimistic, right?) _._ The blaster acted as her relative distance gauge, warm and moderately slippery in her hand. Ironic how the unalterable weapon of her misspent past, what had been devastating against the Rebels, her _family_ , was now to be employed as a tool to save them. _Is Catra flying any of these ships?_

“Remember, Swifty, you can out maneuver them. They don’t have your turning radius, so use it.”

He snorted his agreement.

“It’s the third one you want, right?”

Frosta leaned, digging into Adora’s ribs like a saddlehorn to keep herself seated, “That’s what I told Rogelio. Which, if you don’t know his language, how did you talk to that guy, anyway?”

“Mostly? Guessing.”

“You _guessed_ at his words?! You lived with him for years!”

“Why is everyone surprised when I figure something out? I’m not completely dumb.”

Adora sighed and lowered her blaster, peering at their approaching targets. She could’ve sworn she saw more specks of light. Frosta’s reply butted in to her thought process instead.

“My brother used to say, ‘There’s book smarts and then there’s people smarts—if reading one is easy for you, the other’s gonna be hard.’ And words are book smarts.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Adora cocked her head.

“I had two,” Frosta murmured.

“I’m sorry...how long ago?”

“When I was about—those aren’t ships!”

“Come agai—”

“Swifty, dive!”

Swift Wind tucked his wings and they plummeted like a stone. Several green flashes zipped overhead as their stomachs tried to settle. The women were left fumbling for balance as he spread his wings and jerked them to a halt. Adora’s left arm held on to his neck for dear life, Frosta to Adora’s waist, and all three screamed or yelled their favorite expletive.

“Augh! You didn’t even shoot at them yet!” Swift Wind cried.

“Guess we won’t overestimate them. Let’s _move_!”

The wind blasted everything flat, from clothing to arm hair, as the ships zoomed past. The trio winged away toward _Inevitable_ ’s starboard engine. Centrifugal force crushed Adora into the back of Swift Wind’s neck, strands of his mane catching in the edges of her helm’s open face. Her shots at the ship’s stern pinged off harmlessly. It started banking, setting up for another pass, when oblong lances of green energy split open its hull: missiles from the shoulder cannons. The tightness inside eased, a tingle massaging along her limbs.

 _Demise_ completed the task, though, swinging right around on them. The size of it all suddenly hit Adora full force: gargantuan metal beast, dark gaps glowing with readied ammo, sharp and loud fans of its support systems. She gripped the blaster more firmly, and a dampening of adrenaline ran the pain out of her shoulder. She peppered its nose as Swift Wind veered underneath and escaped a collision course.

Earsplitting **_pews_** impacted behind them. As they turned, flying north, they saw smoke rising from one wing, staying airborne. Not that Adora had much experience with ships outside of Mara’s, but the damage looked like merely a scractch. It started turning again, ever in search of their quarry. _Not good._

“Why’d we stop shooting?” Frosta asked, tremors evident.

Adora barked an incredulous laugh, “You’re asking _me_ for technical details? First mistake. Second group!”

She surrendered to the thrill of narrowly avoiding obliteration and dug her heels into Swift Wind’s sides. Weaving and rocking, he skimmed them along the treetops. The sky’s unmarred and subtle navy coloring appeared created on Entrapta’s data pad. Just as frightening were the sounds of _Demise_ surrounding them, levels rising to drown out anything up to and including Adora’s thoughts. They were closing on the second set of cannons quickly. Tossing a look over her shoulder, the enemy was, too.

“Swifty, move!” she had to shout, hugging him tighter, “If you don’t want us toasted!”

He dipped to their right. As the currents shifted in kind, she twisted her chin up and marked the ship as close as her sense of duty. In the instant the hidden Rebellion cannons fired, _Demise_ was in the clear, and lined up a return volley. There was nowhere to go.

“Stop, Swifty! Back!” Adora panicked.

Frosta squirmed behind her, with a grunt as if she had been punched in the gut. Swift Wind neighed shrilly and banked hard left again. The two women were fully horizontal, parallel to the ground far below, clenching their everything to keep from plummeting. Adora near choked him with her grasp—both arms now—as the Princess of Snows latched on just as vise-like. Explosions erupted above them. The ship’s bolts missed them by a comfortable 20 feet. Suddenly its port side dropped, angled like a pendulum sweeping parallel to their flight path. Whether from backdraft or wing, a sledgehammer force clipped Adora’s helm. It was flung behind them into the trees. Her ears were left ringing as she swiped for it desperately.

“No!”

For but a second, the warrior was proud. Her adaptive reflexes had already accounted for a near useless right arm, meaning her left automatically went for her helm. But still fumbled it. Shocking wires of pain cut off any stamina in what remained of her hold on Swifty’s neck, and Adora slid off his back, into thin air.

Head over heels she plummeted downward. Right before impact, something caught hold. She jolted to a stop, boots brushing the tops of the canopy, back muscles strained. Slowly, she was rotated around to upright, the easing strain of gravity blessedly returning feeling to her limbs. Swift Wind flew underneath to catch her while Frosta groaned. The exhale that came from her tiny body sounded like a gigantic curr ox had plopped down on her chest.

“Frosta?! Don’t tell me you can control living things now, too!”

“Uh, no? I caught you by your armor. Duh.”

“Oh…stars, does that mean you already brought down the ship, too!?”

“No, that comes next,” she squeezed out a worried answer. “I just rerouted the cannon blasts that missed back to their target. That’s why that second one dropped on us.”

“Yeah, let’s do _less_ of that, please? My heart is going faster than Entrapta gushing over a new…chip…thingie,” Swift Wind said.

Adora shook her head, grinning slightly, “Great aim.”

“Thanks...here goes nothin’.”

The final ship was wisely keeping its distance at about hundred feet away, maneuvering cautiously. The rebels bob-hovered between two shorter kapok trees that peeked above their surroundings. _Much better positioning…good boy, Swifty._ Adora patted his neck, coat damp with sweat over his warm skin. Breezes pushed all around their nook. Blinking away dust and escapees from her braid, the blonde savored the precious pause. The ship slowly and assuredly descended, choking out extra turns and banks in a struggle to regain control from Frosta. A whiff of faint body odor stirred up, filtered through the kapoks’ slightly sour musk. Her own had become commonplace at age seven due to the Horde’s training regimen, so the warrior didn’t doubt for a second this was her partner’s. She made a mental note to invite the Princess out more often for hand to hand sessions.

Stretching her neck for the umpteen millionth time, Adora attempted reviewing the ambush with a clear emotional slate. The rest of the Horde troops were out there somewhere. Without the tanks to protect, there was a good chance they’d be sent to clean up the rest of the rebels. Captain Terila coordinated a squad to escort Entrapta to her equipment and send out a miracle message (hopefully without needing to herd the scientist’s mental cats). The officers conceded it’d be best to keep the outposts and King Micah updated, whether or not it would prompt any reinforcements. Major Halbur had split Bright Moon citizens up with each unit to help acclimate their collective senses to the dark. Four such units would be set to patrol in wider loops now that the second ship was obliterated. Adora wished she could be out with the front line, not sitting atop Swift Wind like an aerial chauffer. She rolled her grip along the blaster handle and clenched her teeth.

Stronger gusts barreled over Frosta’s tight, long growls of effort behind Adora. They threw Swift Wind forward, branches clawing at his riders. The winged horse drafted up, around, and back to their hiding spot, and mumbled an apology.

Adora added his flinches and tension to her mental inventory, as his effort to steady them in the turbulence. Nearby trees wobbled like cattails. She squinted, searching the horizon. Before she could voice her concern, another ship swooped into view, with a heading toward the one Frosta was comandeering.

“Shades! Where do they keep _coming_ from?” she huffed.

“Should we go see if the canons are ready?” Swift Wind asked.

“We better, anything to keep Frosta covered. But stay low as you can.”

Off they went, an early autumn leaf floating on the current. Adora’s skin prickled as they exited the balmy curtains of their treetop blind. Her head started to spin, what with finding the cannon squads, monitoring the Princess in her magic exertions, Swift Wind battling the blustering airstream, and judging how close the Horde ships could get before they should consider bailing. Infinite treetops passed under them, each a cauliflower head of impenetrable green. By the barest of margins and the gaping hole signifying their camp’s clearing, she kept them headed in the (approximately) correct direction.

So it was no surprise when a whining slash of energy cut under them and toppled a tree like a scythe to wheat. Swift Wind screamed and lurched dangerously off course. Another ship was hot on their tail. Close enough to singe mane and braid alike.

“C’mon, Swifty! We can do this!”

“It got my leg! _Blast_ it, that…augh!”

Pain burbled out of his throat, ending his report prematurely. The smell of burnt eggs harnessed Adora’s nostrils and pulled her even farther out of reality. She faintly thanked the stars that Frosta seemed unaffected.

Then a horrific crack rent the air, echoing across the sky. It scratched down along Adora’s eardrums, the way water did after a swim. Pieces of Horde aircraft fell to the woodlands’ maw and were swallowed by a series of crashing gulps. The fork, which had delivered said crunchy hull and its panicky soldier-filled center, flew up beside the rebels and hovered.

“I can’t leave you alone for four days without something blowing up,” said Mermista, a rare half-smile brightening her tone. “Also, air is kinda my thing now. Spinny’s gonna have to share.”

“You,” Adora breathed, “Are a _life_ saver.”

“Well what else would I be doing? Sea Hawk will _not_ leave me alone, and if he asks me one more time about singing advice, I’m gonna kick him where it—”

“I love Sea Hawk bashing as much as the next girl,” Frosta’s words crumbled as she leaned into Adora’s sturdy posture, “But we’ve got a stolen ship to clear out.”

“Yeah, right. Adora let you steal something?”

The young woman in question gawked, “I’ll have you—”

“Hey! One of us has lost a foot, and I’d like it to be the _only_ one for the forseeable future. Please!” Swift Wind broiled.

“Right, right,” Adora looked to Mermista. “How good’s your air control?”

“Do you want your hair poof back? And how big?”

“You can do that with a braid...? Nope, nevermind,” she interrupted herself. “You should help with Swifty’s flying and the ship. I’m basically dead weight here. Can you get me down? Safely?”

“Uhhhh, is this another one of your crippling self-doubt episodes? ‘Cause I can _not_.”

“No, Adora’s right, for once,” Frosta said cheerily. “And she’s actually handling it all pretty well. You should’ve seen her during war council when she _did_ lose—”

“ _Three legs and counting!_ ”

Adora had never been more grateful that her loudest friend was injured.

* * *

Before long, Adora found herself fighting off a haze. Regrettably, it wasn’t from the excitement of getting Mermista back in the game. Nor from celebrating Frosta’s brilliant last-minute plan to take over a ship. And definitely not from a heavy over analysis of Glimmer’s reaction to her confession. Which was on her mind due to the fact that 1) exactly _no one_ could keep their opinions to themselves, and 2) Glimmer always took over Adora’s thoughts whenever she found her life in danger.

Her cheekbone’s new rifle butt-shaped bruise and the Horde soldiers standing over her meant number two was most certainly now in effect.

Of course, as cited by Frosta’s brother’s wisdom, Adora was lacking in book smarts. She couldn’t properly add up the odds against her survival, so she bowled through her poor math anyway.

She slammed her boots together around the closest one’s ankle, like scissor blades, upending him. His squad mates darted in with stun batons, but the twist had already moved her away. She drew her blade and hacked at the next arm in reach. Its owner pulled back, yowled, and redirected into another stab. The closeness of its metal prong, olive electricity nipping at her skin, sent a thrill down her spine that brought her sheen of sweat back to her awareness. Adora tucked and rolled on her good shoulder through the ferns, then up to her feet—nimbly, albeit wavering.

The blonde smirked. _Still got it._

As he drove low, Adora shoved the widest part of the blade up into his chin. Then she punched the crosstree home, a quick follow up with all her weight. The soldier stumbled and flumped to the ground. Collectively, the helmets’ yellow glow spun a halo through their midst. Everything from bodies to pocked, mouse-grey tree trunks came into focus. A second dose of adrenaline kicked in, wrapping a gag around her nagging right side. Adora lashed out wildly with a flurry of lizard-swift cuts to keep the others away. They leaned out of range, sinking heavily to their back foot. Under her boots, spongey dirt and mosses forgave her aching tendons as she sprang.

By the last swipe, she was closing the gap and stomping the tallest one’s knee. She watched with granite eyes as the woman’s shock broke into taught, gruesome pain. Adora shifted forward to the next and threw an upstroke, mirroring with her right hand as if she needed it for balance. Suddenly a thousand microwaves of electricity rippled through her millions of pores, reminding her of the fragility of each and every one of her ribs. Her breaths cut her apart from the inside. She dropped brokenly to her knees, then face first amongst mushy, grimy leaf paste. Aftershocks jiggled her arms. The rest of her body tried to grasp the concept of her material existence.

“Wow, you’re getting brutal, girl. I might find myself out of a job soon.”

The soldiers in front of her had disappeared into darkness. Had it not been for the damp clinging to her, Adora would swear Catra had brought them all to Dervusali’s cave, with the undending pain and no sense of time. The familiar raspy snare of her voice ferried Adora through a new, apathetic haze. She was able to move one palm flat next to her prone body, though pushing up was as useful as an ant lifting a boulder.

“Ha! Now I _know_ you’re throttled. You don’t have any self-righteous, bleeding-heart comeback.”

Etheria wove and cantered when two sets of hands hauled her up to kneeling. The spectre crouched down nose to nose—half her old friend’s face, half bolted-on clone pieces, and wholly a horror. Adora blinked, lids compressing over swollen eyeballs.

_She kept the blue one._

“Why?” Adora couldn’t help asking.

A puff of air hit her as Catra snorted, hollow and eerily clean. Gone was the condescending quirked lips and head shake. Slitted pupils flicked across her face instead, calculating. Adora’s insides flexed, in rejection how completely their shared history had meshed with her, grown and integrated like a transplanted organ.

“Why? Why what? C’mon, miss Noble Righter of Wrongs. What of m-my life could you possibly want to know?

The stutter cracked on Adora’s consciousness, a whip spurring a pack animal onward. Catra’s cheek twitched, the clone side abandoning the flesh to its own revealing signs. _At least they let her express rage._

“Looks like Prime’s power comes with a price, too.”

“All power does, idiot,” both eyes rolled.

Adora swallowed against the throbbing flames coursing through her shoulder once again, “Why did you let him do this to you? Glimmer said she…she spoke to you, that you saved her.”

“Aaah, I see. That’s enough to give you hope that I’ve turned around, eh? If Sparkles got to me, _clearly_ there’s some of your Hordie pal left to save.”

“Why?”

There was a long pause.

“Adora…you really have to ask why I’d want my hand turned into supercharged shock rod? To jump off roofs and not break my ankles? I gave you way more credit than you deserved.”

“But you answer to _him_. What happened to you calling the shots?”

“Eh,” Catra shrugged, standing, “He’s not all that bad. Less pushy than Hordak. And now I’m three times more effective against you stupid princesses.”

“Plumeria’s still here. We got all your ships.”

A pulse of energy from her crackling claw sharpened her fangs from out of the shadows, “Yup, you suuuure did. Boy, whatever shall I do with my plans all foiled?”

 _The Heart Blossom wasn’t the goal!? What did we miss?_ Her heart quickened to keep up with her racing thoughts.

The soldiers flanking Adora pulled her further up. As she bit back a cry of pain, she swore the grip on her right arm loosened, remaining supportive but not harshly so. She cast glances about for her sword.

“I have to hand it to you: you brought all this together without silly little She-Ra. Which means, correct me if I’m wrong here, you either lost the Sword, or lost the magic. Prime is going to _love_ hearing about either of those.”

Ice flaked off of Catra’s every word. The inevitable, mortal conclusion to this lecture pushed Adora from behind. She ripped from her captor’s grasp and sprinted headlong into the bush. Tears reflexively let loose in a rush and blurred her surroundings into watercolor smears. The constant splitting ache of her shoulder clamped down on her neck and rode up toward the base of her skull. But onward she ran.

Her limbs responded sharply, pumping and extending to her taste. It was everything else that lagged behind and barely kept a lead on her pursuers. Whippy branches combed her right side, forcing her to jut left and around it. That landed her a couple more steps before a downed branch banged against her leg and spun her. Tumbling, stretching and scrambling to land safely, Adora heard a muted crack. Footfalls thumped behind her. The limb had fallen prone before her hands. _Move!_

She snatched the wrist-thick wood, whipped around, and jammed it at an angle into the dirt behind her. The first soldier ran straight into its jagged end and had the entire idea of breathing stolen from his lexicon. He bent over, whining and gagging, as the warrior rose.

“Yeah,” she groaned, “I’ve been there, too.”

Adora swung the branch, hammer to anvil, down on his helmet, sans the dead pendulum known as her right hand.

The next cracking sound was a blaster rifle, pointed right at her chest. The last Horde soldier had caught up, and Adora’s branch was a meager stub. She kept it between herself and—

“Kyle!?”

She blinked, sweat stinging, reinhabiting her senses. The familiar face repelled the deep of the night and shoved off the pall worn into his body armor. Despite Kyle’s drawn features, his infant grin drew on one of her own.

He nodded and awkwardly winked.

“How far off is Catra?” Adora asked, muting her excitement.

“Far enough, but I don’t have much time. Prime’s looking at north Salineas, keeping track of something. Does that mean anything to you?”

Her excitement hit a tripwire.

“Oh no...the—”

“ _Don’t tell me!_ ” Kyle shrank down his interruption. “The less I know, the better. All’s I know is he’s keeping track of it. I don’t think he’s sent any troops, though.”

“Silver lining, I guess. Do you know of any other plans? Why he hasn’t brought down more clones yet?”

“Not sure. He’s been repairing Hordak’s stuff, and our captains keep disappearing. I think he’s making more like Octavia and Catra.”

“How often?”

“Probably got a good five or six by now, if they...if the changes took. It’s not pretty, Adora,” Kyle’s composure began draining. “Look at h-hitting our borders. You might get some soldiers there to turn.”

“Does Prime have any weaknesses? Blindspots?”

A laugh fell out of him, tired and mirthless, “None yet. He only lets his clones around him, unless he calls for us.”

“ _By the stars_ ,” she realized, “You _need_ to find—”

Shafts of green light broke upon them, puncturing their reunion. Hesitating but a moment, he stepped forward with purpose.

“Let’s make this good.”

Adora pulled her brow close into a flat line, “Hit my right shoulder.”

“What?”

“If we’ve gotta fake a fight, it’s the easiest way for me to act like you’re winning. Right should—”

His rifle blow landed like a piston. Searing threads arced up from the impact, cycloning around her throat, branding the scene’s edges into her eyesockets. Adora swung on the way down. The thwump of rotted wood on metal weighed her sinking reality down with even more hopelessness.

“And _Kyle_ with the assist! I didn’t think you had it in you...”

Claws dug into Adora’s armor shroud and tunic, hoisting her off the ground. Creases of pressure cut into her armpits and flopped her arms at her sides. Her form hung, bracer buckles clinking along her belt, a failed prototype on an assembly line. Razor thin lips below her dipped slightly in the middle, like they were executing a subprocess of smugness.

“Looks like we’re all full of surprises tonight.”

 _Don’t react, act!_ Adora gritted her teeth against indecision.

The young moon curl of her body pulled sweat soaked leggings flush to her skin. She kicked out, but the jostling only invited more muscular shrieks and piled up more severed fibers in her sword arm. It was merely two days prior that Glimmer had bumped it, a warm doorway to solace and memories. Catra’s clone arm, Prime’s gift, opened up a stronger, potent radiance. Kyle tossed his focus this way and that, uncertainty in his pilot seat.

_“And why do you think you can always perform at top notch?”_

_“I used to be able to.”_

Catra had finally done it. In the only moment it would _ever_ matter, on the hilltop whose other side opened to a sprawling meadow of Prime’s controlled utopia, her old friend pressed her advantage.

 _“Sure, and how’d that work out? What_ else _did the Horde give you?”_

Numb fingers assaulted her pouch. They wriggled between the folds and dug for several agonizing seconds. Any bystanders would’ve thought Adora’s next move was a death spasm, nerve impulses vacating. But her glove dropped away, and left in its place was a cylindrical tumor at the base of Catra’s tricep.

Lonnie’s dose of stim.

The arm humming, gnashing with electricity only made it halfway to Adora’s face before its partner released its captive. Bones rattled where the blonde crashed onto Plumerian soil. The only two bodies left in Adora’s universe were Etheria and a mass of tortured, seizing nerves along her right shoulder socket.

“What…what _did you do to me?!_ ”

From the next galaxy over, Catra shouted. Some supernatural forced rocked Adora’s shoulderblades minutely, shallowly arcing them in attempts to offer relief. Everything was fuzzy, like the gray of the sky’s dome far above. Something plunged into the dirt by her feet with a solid **_whumpf_**.

“Don’t remember your allergies…do you, Catra?” Adora squirmed.

An otherworldly screech sunk its barbs into Catra’s breaking voice, “Noo _oooo!_ ”

Adora craned her neck. The border between magicat skin and clone parts bubbled and mashed into grotesque, lime sludge blisters. A shiver ran over the lining of Adora’s arteries, like a furry animal shaking off water. Blissfully expanding, they loosened and gave her frantic pulse the lead to run.

The day wasn’t one to ever forget, their first introduction to a day in the life of a Horde soldier. Their earliest rise thus far, Sergeant Cobalt neatly spread out each item of a basic supply pack to explain its use and purpose. Lonnie had been nursing a grudge against Catra after a spat over who was fastest at the agility course (Catra, paws down). The girl thought it justified to give Catra a test of the stim when Cobalt had his back turned. Adora was distracted by the lesson and hadn’t been fast enough to stop her.

Feverish sweats, a rash, and an intense need to run off her energy kept Catra in the cadet med bay for a week. It was another two before the rest of the squad stopped their competition to find which other stimulants incurred more severe reactions. A month gone and Catra would laugh along with them at the retellings.

_“It wasn't all bad growing up in the Fright Zone…was it?”_

A foreshadowing dribble of bile rose, chilling and burning the back of her tongue. She didn’t want this. As best she could, Adora pushed the phantom parallels back: same battles, higher stakes. She was _tired._ Her heart couldn’t take this back and forth of empathy and revenge. When Catra’s half-mane lifted, when the summer squall and laser green eye grabbed her, when shadows of their moldy past pleaded with her willful neglect, that’s when Adora found an answer for Glimmer’s question. The Horde hadn’t given her a thing, never without expecting a return.

But her squad had given her a family, in every rough and polished facet.

 _Stop it!_ She thrashed internally, clenching her jaw. _Let me let GO!_

The form at her feet was drained, nearly empty. Catra’s clone arm sputtered with a mind of its own, as if sensing their nearby enemy. Adora expelled a weary breath and thanked whatever piece of Etheria might be listening. She pulled with her core, miraculously the one body part still fresh, in order to slump into a sitting position.

“You better take her…if you both want to live.”

She aimed the quasi order at Kyle as he stood by shaking, barrel trained on her despite it all. New sounds circled round, hounds closing on a hunt. But they were staccato notes composed of forest dwelling gaits, not the heavy double time of military breeding.

“But Prime will kill me if I—”

“ _They’ll_ kill _both_ of you whether you eventually decide to take me out or not!” Adora yelled, livid. There was no acting at this point of the night, with spider web cracks of morning breaking on its shell.

“Now _go!_ ”

The scrawny man jumped and dragged Catra away. The throbbing, maundering blonde head hung limp and forced the young woman to stare down at the muddied grass between her knees.

Only now, it looked decidedly more like Square One.

* * *

The moment after she blinked, the last fifteen minutes flashed through Scorpia with perfect clarity. And even though it was solely Perfuma’s shattered look that locked onto hers, the frigid set of her own bones told the Captain that her nakedness was on display for all of Etheria.

A set of gloved hands pulled up firmly on her pincer, so she stood. Blood slathered the toes of her boots and the grass around her, in cursive patterns spelling out mortal screams. Mangled weapons were splayed over gnarled tree limbs and draped like garland on shrubs. The multiple pieces of their owners were indistinguishable from the interior of a smokehouse. Drifting out of the obscure woodland, snatches of a low conversation bracketed these glimpses.

“…yeah, we’re all right…out of range, but not…headed back…”

Her flesh, each cell and strand, surged and rolled with fluid vibrations. The two of them picked a dicey path through an undergrowth fearfully silent. Scorpia’s head burned as if she had been standing for hours in the sun. She floated across a boundary. One second there was nothing, and the next, the salty tang of blood gave way to a thin sugary must.

 _Then we’re still in Plumeria._ Perfuma’s home. Country of kindness. Birthplace of jasmine and inner peace and the most precious, open-hearted woman to ever call her friend. Of course there’d be no celebration for Scorpia’s triumph. Nothing like the cheers for Catra’s over Tung Lashor. This wasn’t the Crimson Wastes. The drought here was all the dark things that frolicked in the light of day.

That’s why she had done it. Her Almanac of Uncertainities had no space for “Is the Alliance

worth saving?” Where would it go? Behind the entry for “How to stop an evil galactic superpower” ? There was no way, with the strength building against its dam inside her, that she wouldn’t use it in their defense. Once Scorpia understood there was no way out, hesitation vanished.

“You still in there?”

Glimmer walked along side, remaining close yet without contact now that Scorpia moved of her own will. The queen’s stoicism coasted in and out of the ambient light, in and out of potential revelation.

“Yeah.”

“Is anything else in there with you?”

“I don’t…I don’t think so.”

“Think _harder_. Is there or isn’t there?”

They came upon a stand of rail thin trunks which ran the full height of Scorpia’s vision. The words swung her around to face her growing years in the Horde. Classes where awkward pauses followed each of her questions. Officers who glowered at her until stuttering answers slithered out. Her tongue cowered at the mere thought. Glimmer and her crossed arms would brook no doubt. But her command packed the punch of tough love, not humiliation—it was Scorpia’s ears that tacked that on.

“You want to know if I’m going to endanger anyone else.”

Glimmer asked, softer yet insistent, “What do you remember?”

“Three of them were on Perfuma, two had her arms and the last a stun baton. I was too busy keeping my shield for the crowd of them firing at me, the uh, the ones hiding in the trees. I guess Bow must’ve heard me shout for her, and he ran to help. Then a shot got through his armor, and he went down. You teleported in over him and sent, what…two of them? Away?”

“I saw three phase out, though I’m not sure where to.”

Walking up behind her, Bow’s addition took the wheel. He was planted on the far side of a current that had sprung between them. The shade of his brow was a younger brother to Glimmer’s, a pronounced wrinkle free from the weight of maintaining fairness. Nelis was a disheveled clump, as was Perfuma, but she wouldn’t meet Scorpia’s yearning gaze.

“And then?”

Were anyone else to apply that particular pinch to those words, Scorpia would’ve brushed it off like any other reprimand. Glimmer’s timber, however, strafed deep into her memories to their first encounter, where dropping Entrapta’s name rescued her from certain death. Scorpia tried to swallow a ration bar-sized lump. Her reply tasted just as fake and unwanted as it waddled out of her throat.

“I didn’t know where Nelis was. I was so frustrated, so _u_ _seless._..they had me pinned, and I couldn’t see them to hit them at range. I thought about how Perfuma can sense life, and how you know about all the space a person takes u-up,” she swallowed at the lump again, stuck halfway down and choking her speech. “I thought maybe my force had some button or switch that could find others’ forces. All the firing and yelling and...and and stuff in my head. I reckoned it was our last chance, so I just let ‘er rip.”

Wet crunching, sucking pops, cutting screams made the silence ring in her mind. It was the one time she wished “tearing it up” didn’t have a literal translation. How it mirrored in the horror-stricken pallor of Perfuma’s demeanor was clear. Breath carved a hollow canyon in Scorpia’s chest. _I’m a monster._

“I destroyed them.”

Glimmer dipped her head once, confirming. There was no rebounding bob to make it a nod of acceptance.

“Did you empty your well of magic?” she asked after a beat.

Scorpia tilted her chin upward and stretched a wordless plea to the roof of the trees, the ceiling encapsulating the trunks. Gravity forced watery defeat back into her tear ducts. She took stock, turning on herself.

“Yes. There’s nothing left.” _Absolutely nothing._

“Perfuma, how much do you have left?”

“I, uh,” she said, her shaky hold on her abdomen dropping, “Wow, I thought I had more, but I’m almost empty too.”

The calming moonlight turned cold and Glimmer’s stare darker as it flicked back to Scorpia. The muscle-bound Captain froze.

“I had enough to get us all back to the camp,” Glimmer spoke, “And I was ready to after I got to Bow. Now it’s only enough to take just me about thirty yards."

“D-do you think that means something?” Scorpia asked.

“ ‘This is all connected,’ ” Glimmer quoted. “We are, _the magic_ is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hung piece in chess is one that’s unsupported, can be freely captured without repercussions. The rest of the title pertains to a very specific move in Vladimirov vs Epishin in 1987. Instead of capturing the queen and take out the most powerful piece, Vladimirov throws in a different "lightning bolt" move to give him a sure victory in a couple moves. Should be apparent that Catra represents the queen on the Primes' side.
> 
> I think *fingers crossed* I’m back in the writing groove. I continue listening to excellent examples of show vs tell, and think I’m getting better at not shoving as many complicated descriptors down everyone’s throats. Also with trying to intersperse more coverage of Glimmadora. Please feel free to leave feedback and/or criticism on that.
> 
> Next chapter *should* come out more quickly, lean more heavily on Glimmer & Adora, since I’ve been molding its content in my head for quite a while now.
> 
> Shout out to a Korrasami fic, The Blind Side of Love, by gmo2 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27076774/chapters/66112765). Another good one for those who like a more mature writing style and not saturated with clichés. Lately I’ve been able to tell within a couple paragraphs or even a sentence whether or not I’ll enjoy the piece, and this one fits the bill.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.


	17. Mutual Support

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or content of the TV show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.
> 
> SPOILERS: The story is a grittier alternate for season 5. Only minor alterations to the canon, namely that all Princesses need to refill their store of magic from their runestone like Glimmer did before she became queen.

In the morning, hoping for a couple more minutes’ rest, Bright Moon rolled over in bed and pulled up sheets of dreary, thick clouds to cover her head. The rain’s pattering lullaby gave everyone more incentive to rise late. Palace staff eventually lit braziers to ward off the incoming chill. Barrier enchantments were drawn over the gaping doorways with likewise intent. The Alliance members who had returned in the small hours of the morning weren’t seen until almost midday. A foreign hush roamed the halls in their stead, spreading to every corner high and low, entwined with echoes of distant thunder.

Nursing steaming mugs of a robust amber tea, King Micah ran Kesquentil through the Rebellion’s progress and setbacks since their last meeting. If Kes noticed any of the damage now coating the king’s body, it didn’t reflect in his sloped forehead, the open way his limbs drooped across his cushioned chair. Micah took comfort in the library’s tall, graceful lines, mahogany shelves, and warm peach marble. Years of inhaling paper and binding glue were never far away, a sensory haven that sanded his worries smooth. Over the rocks of Casayon and Brizeus’ death, his words flowed like a meadow stream.

Kes rolled his lips as if tasting a flim on his teeth, “Does that mean...that when Etherians pass on, they go back into your source of magic? It is a cycle, as they say?”

“Very much so. I’ve always felt this aids in our spells for bestowing children on a couple that cannot create one through other means. We’re able to combine the life essence from both parents for their offspring.”

“Currently, we do that through a science-based process. I admit I’m anxious for your joining our rebellion after all this is past. Our resources together will be formidable.”

“I’m glad you are optimistic about ‘all of this’,” Micah breathed. “Despite our success at Plumeria, our confidence is waning. We’re all expecting the final blow at any second.”

“Primes normally take over a planet in this way. Horde Prime has already played his hand early by staging two confrontations. You might not hear from him for months, otherwise. They’ll be busy gathering as much information as they can on you, to best exploit weaknesses. Your lack of databases for infiltration takes much of his usual strategy away. Speaking of, how do you protect your communications?”

“Signet ring and sealing wax?”

“No no,” Kes’ lips burbled a laugh, “Between electronic devices. Bow mentioned data- and trackerpads.”

“Ah, of course,” Micah reddened. “I wouldn’t be able to help you with that. Bow and Entrapta are down in Salineas following a tip from our Horde informant. He should be back in a couple hours, if you can stay that long.”

“Yes, yes, and I believe Entrapta was the one I should have spoken with last time. She will be most excited for the crates of supplies I’ve brought.”

“They will be a _great_ help to us, Kes, we’re indebted to you again. Is your rebellion...hmmm, leadership okay with the investment?”

“Your world is far behind us in technology, Micah. They were glad to hear that the somewhat outdated tech could be incredibly useful to you. _We’re_ saddened to not be able to offer weapons, or comms that can connect with our other bases and fleets.”

At the tea service tray, Micah poured himself another cup, then raised the pot questioningly toward his companion. Kes shook his head, blowing off steam from his own mug.

“And—forgive my ignorance to the terms—you won’t communicate with us because the Primes could intercept the messages? Even if we were to put them in codes like you mentioned?”

“Yes, the council expressed fear at playing _our_ hand too soon. The Primes have already set up a net around Etheria that would find our signals. Intercepting messages going back and forth from a planet that only just appeared in our dimension would be highly suspicious.”

“Same with finding us in combat gear that they’ve seen elsewhere in the universe?”

“Precisely,” Kes nodded.

The king stirred his tea, watching the film of honey swirl and assimilate into its depths. He was getting better at standing for long periods of time, eating solid foods more frequently. It was a miracle he was able to attend Brizeus’ ceremony, nevermind performing the required magicks. But did it _ever_ take a toll on him. Hot guilt still flared at visions of his daughter at his bedside, his frailty leeching off her as well. _Your body isn’t what it used to be, old boy._

“So...Horde Prime. You’ve been dealing with him for a long time, it seems. What’s his end goal?” Micah asked. “If he conquers the entire universe, what then?”

“This has been a debate for us more often. Of the few prisoners we have been able to rescue, their input leans toward his thinking this all a game. Prime looks to prove himself to himself, for ego purposes.”

Cautiously, methodically firing his muscles as he lowered himself gingerly to his chair, Micah adopted a low rumble to his reply, “Destroying worlds...is a game?”

“That is but one theory. Another, with the discovery of Despondos, is that he will try to accumulate more technology and processes to find other lost dimensions, untouched by his empire.”

Micah nodded, stroking his beard. The alien’s lack of disturbance at either suggestion needled him. The steward that had stood by during the dinner conversation reminded him that his thoughts were most likely a product of Selasendarion culture. Kes’ empathy for his extinct people seemed misplaced next to the clinical attitude he gave to the Primes and what they stood for.

“What exactly _is_ Horde Prime?” Micah leaned forward, “Another clone that developed original thought? Is he a living being?”

Kes shook his head, swallowing, “We are uncertain. Our data indicate some part of him is superficial, aaah...synthetic, or manufactured, if you will. If he is some sort of robot, he is far beyond any intelligence we have been able to create or find.”

“Do you think finding that out would provide us a leg up in this fight?”

“Undoubtedly. Our obstacle is their control of their background and knowledge. His security is the strongest around.”

In their pause, a melody entered with a footfall drum beat and minor chord strummed by a calculated voice. Shadow Weaver glided through the doorway, gesturing with spider-like arms in emphasis of some unknown point to Glimmer beside her. Each patted their clothing free of water droplets, carrying the storm’s clean smell into their midst. Micah straightened, chest expectantly filling with energy, but relaxed at the sight of Terila’s top lieutenant and three other Guards trailing them. Shadow Weaver’s masked trained on him with such directness that it telegraphed her sense of his magic, his reflex. He stared back unphased. She could work with the Rebellion for 10 more years and never would he regret his inherent distrust.

“Good morning, Kes, dad,” Glimmer draped her arms over his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

“Afternoon,” Micah added a playful stress to his correction, “Not that we fault you for resting after last night.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. The whole relay of recharging from the Moonstone, taking Scorpia to recharge, making Adora visit the infirmary, _on top of_ pacifying a worried parent?” she winked, flopping onto the corner of a couch. “I think dawn stayed unbroken out of pity for me.”

“Let’s get you some breakfast, then,” he sought out the eyes of a servant by the doorway, who rushed off to gather food.

She hummed, airy and blissful, “That’ll be lovely. Did we interrupt anything? Because we should tell you about Scorpia.”

“By all means.”

Shadow Weaver crossed her arms, her sigh floating out like a whine, “Frankly, there’s nothing wrong with her or the Black Garnet, despite what Queen Glimmer would tell you. I believe her killing those soldiers was another part of her powers.”

“But she _stole_ from our magic,” Glimmer said, forcefully flipping a palm up, “There’s no other explanation for why we all lost so much, when we didn’t do anything more.”

 _And it wasn’t ‘killing,’_ she finished to herself, _it was ‘obliterating.’_

“You are mixing the two practices. Her connection with the Black Garnet grants her control of Etheria’s forces. This is built into our spells for teleportation. The magic takes apart the natural bonds of reality to put you somewhere else. Scorpia did the same.”

Micah’s eyes widened, “You’re not speaking literally, are you?”

“No...no,” she deposited her forehead painfully into one pale hand. “There is a force inside everything on our planet. A rock stands in a river, and the water wears it away over the years. The soldiers were the rocks, and Scorpia was the river, only she accomplished in two seconds what happens over two decades.”

“So she removed the bond that...held their bodies together?”

“Precisely,” Shadow Weaver said.

Glimmer shuddered at the reedy accent put on the S, and the subdued admiration in the word spread it over the rest of her skin with a knife. She pulled her oiled canvas mantle tighter about her.

“Calling upon examples from Glimmer’s spatial awareness and Perfuma’s manipulation of life forged the connection between their magicks. What she did, what her instincts reached for, required a large amount of power. _That’s_ why the move tapped into their collective magic.”

Her explanation stalked about their circle, lengthening shadows and whispering conspiracies from behind their ears. With a crisp swipe to clean up her bangs, Glimmer rose to pour herself some tea. She could hear the faint scraping of her father’s ring up and down the textured jet glaze of his cup. Kes was motionless as a statue, which was curious. This methodical investigation was exactly his intellectual forte.

“You’re certain that’s what happened?” Micah asked.

“Yes, and it unwittingly uncovered a great advantage. If the Princesses can pool their power together, there’s no telling the strength of the weapon they could make. If Scorpia were to use _all_ of their magic together? She could ruin his _empire_ , your Majesty,” Shadow Weaver’s voice oozed with delight.

“If we can combine our magicks, we should be looking to solve the Heart problem. Not a universe-wide war,” Glimmer pointed out.

“Inter-galactic,” Kes corrected quietly.

“Yeah, that.”

“You’ll turn a single planet he wants into millions of mortals he wants. If the First Ones found a way to siphon off the magic from the animals and plants, what’s to stop him from discovering that method again?” Shadow Weaver said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Glimmer saw Kes shrug in consideration and clasp two of his hands together.

“It would take him years, I suspect,” Micah looked for a sign from their ally, “Considering he hasn’t had access to magic at all until now.”

The sorceress was unrelenting, “Dispersing the Heart is betting against his ambition. He’d have whatever time he needs for research after he conquers us all. We should strike while we have the chance.”

“This information came to us but hours ago. How can you be so sure the Princesses could coordinate their powers into a focused strike? Scorpia only found it in a moment of near insanity, as my daughter tells it,” Micah pointed out.

“You are gifted, my _King_ , but I am the only one in this world who has been able to draw on a runestone’s power apart from the Princesses. I have been researching the technicalities of magic far longer than anyone, even your sister. I have a wealth of knowledge and instinct to guide them where they need to go.”

“The reason you’re the _only_ one to do that…is because the _rest_ of us have a respect for magic, when you used it out of _greed_ ,” Glimmer’s retort worked up into a lather at the back of her throat, a simmering rage. “No wonder why Adora can’t stand to be near you.”

Like a hungry predator hearing its lunch rustle in a hiding spot, Shadow Weaver turned to answer.

“Yes, the rest of you have respect, including the one who damned the consequences and activated the Heart anyway.”

Bristling, Glimmer fed the sting instead of the rising tide of guilt, “I did it for _my people_ , for Etheria. Was I wrong? Y-yes. Do I regret it? Every shades-cursed _day_.”

The tirade broke upon cliffs of tension, and she had to stop speaking as it receded. She counted to five and recentered. Her dad, in Glimmer’s peripheral, adopted his head tilt of rapt attention.

“And by some miracle, the others let it go, which I am eternally grateful for. But you? You probably don’t even think you did anything wrong. That anyone would’ve taken the chance for power in your shoes. Isn’t that right?”

The gleaming eyes narrowed.

“I had the courage,” Shadow Weaver’s warning was steady, sonorous, “To do what was necessary. If you do not know the boundaries of magic, you cannot understand its nature. So when Scorpia did exactly as you, to save your hides, and _without_ collapsing all of Etheria, you chalk it up to a superstitious bias against _my_ past? Use the brain in that thick skull of yours, your Majesty, for once in your—”

“ _That’s_. Enough.”

The icy interjection chilled the room. King Micah appeared every bit his mural in stone situated just down the hall, all uncompromising edges and unbroken lines. Rain pounded harder on the glass panes and filled the emptiness not yet taken over by stewing anger.

“Where is Scorpia now?” his patient cadence granted permission to talk again.

“Back at our training camp at the edge of the woods, said she could work on getting tactical plans to the officers there. Maybe more of the Horde outpost locations, too.”

Micah looked from Glimmer to Shadow Weaver with question, who reveled with a short, pleased purr.

“Do you think that wise?” he asked his former mentor.

“No, actually. She needs to push her abilities while her feelings are still fresh. Her mind will cause her to close up from you all now that she lacks trust—”

“You don’t get to—” Glimmer seethed.

“—in _herself_ ,” Shadow Weaver finished, launching daggers at the fierce violet voids at the other end of the couch. “If you baby her, it will take twice as long to regain those powers.”

“Glimmer, who do you think would be best to work through this with her?”

Her cheeks flushed, darts hotly tattooing her skin, at her father’s passive rebuke. She pursed her lips, sniffed, and grudgingly sorted her options. Mermista wouldn’t pull her punches, of course. Lonnie or Adora would share her background with the Horde and its evils. Bow and Perfuma were right out. Frosta was the only among them to get in touch with the darker side of her magic.

That thought surfaced from Glimmer’s well of ideas, and bobbed around without hope of rescue. What would the rest of them find in their magic? If Perfuma could now seek out emotions and predict a body’s moves, could she force a person to move against their will? _No, not Perfuma. I’m sure the possibility never even_ occurred _to her._ Mermista manipulated flow, air and liquid, so far. _Breath and blood_ , Glimmer blanched.

 _And me?_ She could teleport people against their will. It’d mean certain death to insert their body into stone, or at the bottom of the ocean. And now that she could transport objects…

_Why not just put the ocean in someone’s lungs? A boulder in their stomach?_

“Your Majesties, pardon my intrusion.”

In the doorway stood their stablemaster, head bowed and arm to the side.

“None needed, Piersi. What can we do for you?” Micah twisted to greet him.

“We cannot get Swift Wind back to resting,” Piersi said, dull eyes brimming with defeat. “He insists Adora is in trouble, and won’t settle until we give him proof otherwise.”

“That’s ridiculous, she’s still asleep,” Glimmer said.

“That’s what we had assumed, but we pounded on her door and she never answered.”

“Adora could barely swing her arm when we walked up from the skiffs, with what Perfuma repaired. Why would she think she’s healed enough to go anywhere?”

Everyone in the room with eyebrows quirked one at Glimmer.

“Oh for the—”

She teleported away in the middle of a curse.

“How is he? I mean, before now,” asked Micah.

“Recovering, your Majesty, in the…best way he knows how. We have him in a brace—”

A grating vow arrived before Glimmer fully coalesced, shoulders caught up and ready to strike.

“I am going…to _kill_ her.”

“Aaaaah,” Kes finally spoke, “I see you employ violence in sarcasm, as well.”

“She gets it from her mother.”

Glimmer submitted. The chance of an easy day at home with planning and examining her magic sat in the corner, abandoned like a misbehaved child. She stomped toward the exit.

“I’ll be by in a couple minutes—thank you, Piersi. Keep that oaf there, threaten him with half feed if need be.”

“Glimmer,” Micah strode to her side, “Should you take someone with you?”

“No. Anywhere she might go while injured shouldn’t be too dangerous with me uninjured and at full power.”

“All right. Stay safe, then. I would say take one of Kes’ communicators with you, but Bow has to connect them with our equipment, I believe.”

“I can always get back quick if something’s truly wrong.”

Broad hands drew Glimmer into Micah’s warm embrace, bands of muscle curling gently, protectively about her. She dove into the balmy collection of salves and heathered thatch of threads in his woven tunic. There was nothing to be shamed of in restocking her internal comfort shelves. Not when so much inventory had been stolen while he was exiled on Beast Island.

When she pulled back to memorize his noble face and its new fault lines, Glimmer discovered in its place a flashback to her coronation celebration. The night had reached the end of the bell curve with only the most dedicated dozen partiers holding out on the dance floor. The giddiness of wine buzzing under their skin, the Best Friend Squad goofed off with spinning and stumbling and laughing until their ribs regretted giving them control. Sea Hawk came to harangue them for one last ditty—Mermista was conveniently nowhere to be found—but Adora graciously lassoed her about the waist and off into a corner by themselves. They had to stifle giggles to keep their escape from being discovered.

_It was her hands._

Slender and incomparably strong, pressing the two of them and a jumping flutter into a hug. They canted upward across her back, the gap between thumb and pinkie translating into trust and awe. Their bodies, their hearts had registered the music’s slowing tempo before they did. Glimmer had relished all of it. Adora was a kaleidoscope of pride, congratulations, and promises. In the grand scheme of space and time, they were lost to the world, to the Horde and its lecherous fight. Their smiles bound them together, wandering pathless toward a future where they were free to do anything. To go anywhere. _To love anyone._

That was the closest her line between best friend and crush had blurred. All the next morning, Glimmer had combed it through. Who _wouldn’t_ feel at least a little attracted to brave, bold, beautiful? Especially when she slung your arms over her shoulders and lovingly carried your sleepy form back to your room. And then when she stayed awake with you, infected with a second wind, to listen to every story about your mother, and how you dreamed of being like her. And _then_ when she left your bed only after you fell into dreams, so that her sleep fighting habit wouldn’t wake you in the middle of the night.

Adora’s second gift to the new Queen of Bright Moon was a magnificently relaxing morning. No one bothered her with a single request before she opened her door. Which Adora may have accomplished via threat of bodily harm—Glimmer wasn’t sure. With late saffron and rose light lazily, perfectly coloring her room, she hadn’t cared.

Her first gift was the dance. Friends danced together all the time, sure. So did best friends. Yet each recurrence of the memory brought back the quiet joy inlaid into every part of Adora, like pearl on the lid of a keepsake box. Even if it were unfairly presumptuous to decipher the gesture as more than platonic, Glimmer’s lungs were always jealous of the breath those images stole.

(And maybe, just maybe, she wanted to be presumptuous.)

“Dad, did you talk to Adora while I was captured?”

A confused curve tickled the space between his eyebrows, “We talked many times.”

“It’s just...you and I had that talk in the garden, about significant others and,” Glimmer bordered on a whisper, “Well, Adora kinda told me she loved me while we were in Plumeria.”

She blushed yet again. Her nerves always chased maturity out of her words when it came to her mess of emotions. Micah squeezed his daughter to bring her back down.

“And you think I was...what, preparing you for it?”

“Well...yeah...”

“No, we never spoke on that. Though maybe I should’ve noticed—she took your absence hardest out of all of us, on par with dear old dad,” he winked. “So, what did you tell her?”

“I had to think about it.”

Her father was unreadable, a minute flinch of the gray stripe on his beard. And it _frustrated_ her at times to no end. There’d be no way she could ever pick up that skill, royal demands or not, and sometimes Glimmer only wanted his outburst, a random quirky question, or an over-opinionated answer.

“I think that’s wise.”

“What do I do?”

Micah’s rich laugh popped out of him, “You know I’d never tell you that, dear heart. All I _will_ say, is that whatever you do, don’t do it for me, or the Rebellion, or Bright Moon…or even Adora. Do it for yourself. If your happiness means she’s by your side, that’s all that matters.”

Glimmer pulled him into a tight hug once more, mulling over his words for a moment. She couldn’t stop a wry chuckle.

“Tcha, ‘by my side.’ Like Adora’d hold to that. Current situation, case and point.”

“…metaphorically.”

* * *

Glimmer was surprised that she, Swift Wind, and his nervousness could all fit in the lofty stone hallway of the First Ones’ site. She guided them by a pink orb floating above and ahead, surrounded by stale air and arrhythmic percussion of hooves. Its walls were too plain and unadorned to convince her that it shared creators with the Crystal Castle. Her fingertips drafted along their granular surface, over the naturally shallow dips and waves. The granite stood silently by and opened itself to examination. No one to impress or obey. No scorn for an imbalance of feldspar and quartz. The queen could almost see the appeal of its simplicity. She just wished it wasn’t partly because it dampened Swift Wind’s insufferable chatter.

“Swifty! Knock it off!”

“You don’t understand, Glimmer! Last time she was here, she—”

“I don’t need to. You’re gonna beat your heart right out of your chest if you don’t cool it,” she scowled.

“How am I supposed to remain calm when She-Ra’s loyal steed cannot get to her?” he limped, pitiful frown bouncing with every other step.

“Getting worked up isn’t going to help you _or_ her, right? And it’ll actually hurt you. Piersi said you need to rest, and this is not it. It’s a miracle he let you come along.”

“We’re going too slow. If we don’t hurry, something worse could happen to her!”

“What does your bond tell you?”

“It...it feels less painful now,” Swifty slowed. “I guess that could mean she’s not in as much danger...oooo, or it could mean she’s dying! Glimmeeeer!”

“Look,” Glimmer said, dripping with frustration, “We’re in unknown territory. We could both walk into a—”

“Pit!”

“Or a trap, but yes, a pit is—”

A snap made her flinch, and her collar snagged up tight. The shuffling of her boots skittered over the edge of the pit three inches in front of her and down to who knows where.

“Towd you,” said Swift Wind between clamped teeth.

He let go once Glimmer had fully stopped. The caffeinated mongoose inside her remembered it was her heart, and started pumping normally again.

“Swifty, is there anything else in here I should know about?”

“Uh, no. We only got to the other side.”

“And do we see _why_ you should calm down and focus, now?”

Swift Wind dropped his long neck in a horse shrug, “...yes...”

“That’s a good loyal steed.”

She teleported them across and stared up the wall of bouldering stones. A couple she noted were clear of grit. Tapping on some curiously, she discovered the First Ones’ runes, foreign even after all these years. Inside she let the tension under her shoulderblades ebb. This wasn’t the time for unnecessary fears.

“You said you don’t know what’s up there?” she peered at the top.

“No. Scorpia and I found her here.”

Glimmer turned to face him, staff materializing, “Can you tell where Adora is?”

“She’s...up there, not too far away.”

“Good. I’m going up, you’re staying.”

“Hey! But I—”

“Are going to be _grateful_ I don’t send you back to Bright Moon,” Glimmer gave him a small placating smile. “Really, Swift Wind: you’re not ready for this. You’re horribly hurt, noisy, and not thinking sensibly.”

“You’re saying...I’ve thought sensibly before?” he perked up.

“Don’t push it. Rest while you can. I’ll go find out what’s happening.”

She waited for Swifty to lay down, with crossed arms and a formidable glower affectionate enough to create Huntara tears. Glimmer stationed her orb at the top edge of the wall to (hopefully) keep him calm, and continued on.

Silvery blue light entranced her, the dark crescent of the open door cutting across it. Lines wavered and danced like the sun through crystal ocean shallows. The static of magic hit her from the other side. She grounded herself in the cool metal of her staff, wrapped her power around it. A gift from her mother, the times it had saved her life, her father’s history with it. Glimmer stepped through, where fears from a minute ago were incredibly necessary. 

The. _Entire_. Cavern beyond was coated in First Ones’ runes. She had only glanced at the climbing rock. These were twenty times as strong and multiplied by a thousand more inscriptions. Their angles merged into the points of fangs. Her grip tightened. Circles and diamonds sharp as razors. Spears gathering and aiming them like volleys of arrows that never landed. Her thumbs were cutting off feeling to her fingertips. The darkness between jumped out to swallow her. Whether or not breathable air existed anywhere near Glimmer was suddenly of dire concern.

“H-hey, Glim.”

The rest of the room pieced itself together. Adora, cape and hair rippling out behind her, knelt with the Sword of Protection point down. Before her glowing friend stood a block of stone identical to the one Glimmer had barely noticed just outside in her haste. An assessing regard in the shape of serpentine eyes pierced Glimmer’s last shred of conscious processing. Eyes above a pointed snout, set in timelessly sharp features of iridescent violet, attached to a coiled and scaled body which now dangerously hardened where it lay.

“Did I _say_ you could bring more here with you, deceiver?”

He— _a dragon!—_ spoke plain words that slid out like acidic judgment. It took her a moment to realize they were aimed at Adora. Glimmer’s reeling senses demolished her filter of decorum and forced a snort out of her.

“You’re daft. Adora deceptive? Right, and I’m a lasanbird.”

“Watch your tongue, Etherian,” he snapped.

“Good l-luck...telling the Qu-Queen of Bright Moon _thaaaat_ ,” Adora’s new dialect seemed to be all groans, each word a trial to form.

“Or you for that matter, Adora. Would you listen to _him_ if he told you to rest your shoulder after tearing it out of joint?”

Glimmer took her in as she stepped cautiously closer, tapping the cold stone floor quietly as would an impatient teacher. Exertion was smeared over every inch of her exposed skin. Adora gathered her strength to respond, and several times had it torn apart by tremors. The dragon seemed to be following Glimmer’s movements intently, a skepticism guiding his guarded interest.

She took a second moment of realization for Adora’s radiant, billowing crimson cape.

“Y-you’re...you’re She-Ra again!”

“Alm-most...aaahh...” she grimaced.

Her head dipped out of sight, cradled between her exposed arms. Wrought in the skin there were charred canyons that merged and split into First Ones’ runes. Glimmer shivered, the sight setting her memories coldly ablaze, and reached out a hand.

“Are you accessing the Heart?”

Laboring through strained cries, Adora heaved.

“C’mon, take a rest! Just...pause for a _moment_!” Glimmer tried again.

“Trrr...trust...me, Glimmmmer,” she managed.

Glimmer sank to her knees, turning to the dragon, “Is she doing something with the Heart!? Is it hurting her?”

The giant considered them both in turn. His horned ridges held the overflow of lights in their cracks. Blue reflections danced over him like a second skin, a costume woven of prophecy. He had moved closer, she noticed. His great encrusted head hovered at the corner of the block.

“I know you. You were on an old vase, in Lance and George’s library,” Glimmer cleared her throat. “Were you Mara’s dragon?”

He growled, though admittedly with much less fire than before, “What of it?”

“Did Mara tell you what the First Ones were doing to the Heart? Did she tell you it was a weapon?!”

“That’s not something for you to—”

“Adora can’t tap into the Heart again! Is that what’s happening?” Glimmer shook her head. “She can’t...she can’t...”

Something crumbled inside. Its powdered compound fell into the star before her, and Adora positively _ignited_. Her mouth flung open in a soundless scream, and after ten hours-long seconds, everything dimmed at last. Sword, clothes, skin, the blessed nightmarish runes. Between peacemeal moans, Adora swayed. Glimmer found her friend’s pulse completely erratic through her fingerless gloves. _Please say this is over._

“She can’t keep fixing my mistakes,” Glimmer whispered.

She called up her magic. Somehow haggard and blunt, soft pink tones teased She-Ra’s form out of the darkness. She clung to her weapon, hands deathly pale, like a rope ladder’s rung saving her from a squall. They sat alone, together in the shadows, as if the cavern ceiling had never existed and the space above was theirs in which to create a fresh canvas.

She-Ra’s breathing slowed, and the queen threw her steely gaze on the dragon looming above. Whether by the rest of his body being hidden in the dark, or through a mask of genuine aloofness (‘a mask of concern’ was too much commitment), the bog surrounding him lightened with his mood. Glimmer stared anew, perhaps with a reverence more fitting for a creature of legend.

“What…is she to you? To Bright Moon?” he asked.

She waited for his wrinkles to sour. They stayed unfolded, to her surprise.

“An inspiring leader…a skilled fighter, a wicked improviser, staggeringly thoughtful whenever she tries. So selfless that she’d give you her breath if she could.”

At that, the dragon grumbled a deep grating thrum, but she went on.

“Adora is…hope. She’s my closest friend. We’ve saved each other’s lives a couple of times, though I’m pretty sure I’m still in her debt. As are we all.”

In a split second, She-Ra’s layer disappeared, and Adora came back to the fore. She began to slump toward Glimmer but, by some buried instinct, tensed up at the last second, staving off collapse for one more miraculous minute.

“When she wakes, tell her that pilivice is a sacrifice made expressly for an _immense_ population, with a small chance of benefit…”

She gaped at him. There was no way this dragon was the same as the one she had met mere minutes ago, that had been soaked to the core in disdain.

“And rarmelion…is a dedication to a cause so deep,” his slitted pupils opened on to a colorless form of death she was sure would consume her, “That one’s individuality is lost. They in essence, cease to be.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Glimmer had her arm securely around Adora, the blonde’s claim to a rigid bone structure now completely gone. She stirred fitfully.

“Because a _Queen_ of Bright Moon is nothing to be trifled with, and…she trusts you.”

“You can be so sure of that?”

“Her body is sure, at least.”

“…come again?”

“Days ago, after reactivating the Sword and before she passed out from pain and shock. The last thing she said…was your name.”

* * *

He couldn’t wait until after shift. It wasn’t the cold; it was pretty balmy, considering. He was never mistreated; their people were normally gruff and sparing of words. It wasn’t that his partner was boring; she kept him on his toes. The fact he couldn’t remember her name was appropriate, since Princess Frosta rarely called any of her staff by name.

Which he didn’t fault her for. No one did, and not just because she was a Princess, or their Princess. After her childhood, and lack thereof, he accepted it. The Snows people had stories of the past of conflicts between clans and tribes, and many times he wondered why they were all united under Frosta. None had strayed away from her commands and directives. From a child?

...no, he accepted that too.

It was honey whiskey that made him antsy to be done with guard duty. His neighbor had gotten a bottle as a gift from their family’s new trade deal in the Crimson Waste, and they promised him a glass. The taste was one of a kind, the burn enough to momentarily stop and bring back the full force of the frigidity their people loved. He loved working the Fractal Flake watch.

 _Because_ , he reminded himself as he hopped down to his hidden contingency ledge, _I know every ice crack, footstep, drip impact, sneeze echo, icicle break, and—yes—fart flap in the place._ And whatever was coming down the hallway did not register as a friendly. Across the oblong viewport cut through the ice to the other side of the ledge, he nodded to his partner. All that was left was to—

“An interesting set up she has here.”

The voice chipped at him, the draw of a serrated knife across his gorget. His partner peered over at him. They exchanged but a single acknowledgement.

“Few guards? Open hallways? It’s as if she doesn’t expect any threats. There is so _much_ to improve on this world! So much order they _lack_!”

_Oh...oh, my dear idiot alien...you have no idea..._

The stroll toward the ledge continued. All but one set of feet was regular, predictable. The last— _the flame-tossed bastard’s_ —was predictably ambling. An undercurrent strung through between him and his followers. They were passing the third alcove, the second...

“I’ll need a larger operating surface in here, expand that shelf. You can brace on the opposite walls. Keep a border on it to prevent—”

Steps passed the last columns. As one, the guards pulled their cords, unleashing whirring blades that sheered the entire length of the ledge. The footsteps had halted, probably in the inches before breaching the doorway. Metal discs rotated in a blur along the outcropping and safely back into their slits. After the dust (in this case, flaked ice) settled, Horde Prime tittered.

“One? One pathetic trap in the _entire_ fortress? And it didn’t even work!”

 _Didn’t it?_ the guard smiled.

As the clones set their weight down onto the ledge, now as slick as polished glass thanks to the razor-sharp cleaning cuts, there was no more footing to be found. A wad of sliding and impacts of dense bodies sounded above him, and bodies tumbled into the frigid water far, far below. He peeked over the edge and counted eight. When they surfaced, they swam toward the sheer walls as if this were a natural disturbance of their day. A couple attempted digging their claws into the ice, but the swipes were sluggish, blows shallow.

They scraped and scraped until motion ceased altogether. Cracking and popping echoed its way up to the guards. Clone corpses bobbed and drifted like ice flows on the sea, frosted and barren. In the Kingdom of the Snows, there was cold, and then there was _cold_. Today he saw that even clones couldn’t withstand the latter. The sight made him grateful for his habit of checking his boot cleats everyday before shift.

A crunch from above. A frustrated mumble scrabbled up from the ledge, and his blood turned that second type of cold. The guard saw his partner’s gaze split open, impossibly wide. With a last vigorous nod, she shuffled away down her side’s ramp, toward the hidden tunnel and off to sound the capitol’s alarm. He sunk back into a hidden alcove offset from the main, slowed his breathing, and set his ears to the frequencies of the Fractal Flake chamber. If he survived this, his account would be the map his Princess would need for a counterattack.

“Some strategy, I see. Well done, Princess…there’s hope for you, yet.”

Looks like he’d have to wait a little longer for his whiskey after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't recall from the chapter 5 notes, support in chess is the state of one piece being protected by another, ie your opponent could capture piece a, but then you'd immediately capture that piece with piece b.
> 
> The flashback from Glimmer's coronation (aka the obvious Glimmadora addition we needed but never got) was inspired by this picture by Say_Anything, located on their tumblr (https://freezingmyblitzballs.tumblr.com/image/614205325560643584) Please also consider checking out their story Heart of Courage (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747562/chapters/59831002).
> 
> Not much else to comment on this chapter. I'm relatively on time because I had the revisit to Dervusali's cave playing around in my head for a while. Interested to see how Horde Prime operates in the Kingdom of Snows? Me too :)
> 
> TheShortestManOnEarth just started up a new Glimmadora fic, Flip the Script, found here https://archiveofourown.org/works/27911995/chapters/68349967 Have always enjoyed their stuff, and the summary intrigues me.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and criticisms enthusiastically welcomed.
> 
> UPDATE 2/22/21: My mental and emotional game has been hard on me lately. I don't want to sound like a complainer, it's just the truth. After such a long wait for an update, it feels wrong to give you guys a shorter chapter like I had planned. That means a slightly longer wait for what should be a 6k word chapter, including some Glimmadora content. Hopefully the pandemic isn't hitting you hard, or you're finding the support you need if it is. Stay positive, test negative, my friends.


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